Joy to the World
by Peonywinx
Summary: A Tales of Diamond Earth Christmas special, an anthology of short stories featuring some of DC's most beloved characters as they deal with their own unique Christmas situations. Be it a heartwarming dinner with family, a kickass crime-fighting spree, an enigmatic mystery, or a comical wild goose chase, Christmas 2002 in the Diamond Earth universe will be one to remember.
1. Home Is Where the Heart Is

**_Introduction_**

**_Hello again, people! And Merry Christmas! In honor of this wonderful holiday, I present to you Joy to the World - a collection of short stories featuring some of DC's characters in their Diamond Earth incarnations. As I've stated, there will be one chapter for each day of December, starting from today all the way to the 31st. The chapters of this story are mostly self-contained, although a few are loosely connected - and most characters will only appear in one chapter - but again, there are a few exceptions to this rule. The chapters vary in mood, tone, and length; quite a few serve as backdoor entrances for characters who have not yet made their appearance in Diamond Earth, or develop existing characters further, or provide extra background information and/or histories of said characters, etc. etc. - you get the idea. But, whatever you get from the chapters, I hope they are all sufficiently Christmassy for this season._  
**

**_Now, before we begin this month-long journey, I am officially disclaiming for the whole story: Any recognizable - and even some not-so-recognizable - characters belong to DC, as do some of the plot points. They may have been modified for the Diamond Earth universe, but the person who modified them - me - is claiming no ownership of them. I do not, and have never, profited from this and am doing this for fun.  
_**

**_That said, we open our Christmas special with DC's golden boy: the Man of Steel himself. Enjoy!_**

* * *

**TALES OF DIAMOND EARTH  
**

**Joy to the World**

**Home Is Where the Heart Is**

_Thus, though orphans, the children of _Angel Wings _are full of Christmas cheer and goodwill._

Clark read over the last sentence of the article he was doing on the Christmas celebrations at the Angel Wings Orphanage and nodded to himself, satisfied. It was a simple article, no more than 2,000 words in length – and unlike Lois' scathing exposé on Clarinn's Department Store's Christmas scam, it was unlikely to win him a Pulitzer – but it was heartfelt and sincere, with a warm tone that Clark felt truly embodied the spirit of Christmas.

Clark yawned slightly as he saved his article and waited for the computer to switch off. It was almost 7 p.m., which meant it was six o' clock back home in Smallville. He wasn't sure what Kara was doing – probably she was off with her friends somewhere – but Ma and Pa Kent would just be coming in from a day of somewhat lighter work than usual on the farm. They would enter their cozy farmhouse and wash the snow out of their clothes and boots with trickles of warm water before sitting down to a delicious homemade Martha Kent dinner of roast goose, apple pie, and a nutty vegetable dish of her own creation. Then they would cuddle by the fire and drink eggnog while watching reruns of old Christmas movies on their black-and-white TV.

Clark sighed, feeling homesick. He had not been home for Christmas in seven years. Sure, he'd visited occasionally – but never during the holiday season. The first Christmas he'd celebrated after leaving Smallville was in the 31st century with the Legion of Superheroes, and the Christmas after that was spent covering a turf war in Mexico for the _Planet_. The next year, he was stationed in Greenland to interview some rural Greenlander who'd spent the winter creating a gigantic Christmas theme park out of ice. Christmas 1997 was the first time he met Batman; the two had teamed up to stop a giant meteorite from hitting Earth and ruining the festivities – and in '98 he'd attended the _Daily Planet's _Christmas centennial celebration. He'd been offworld in '99, unconscious during Christmas Day in 2000, and last year he was too worried about Darkseid and Parallax to risk going back to Smallville.

A quick glance at his watch told Clark that he was going to be late for his dinner date with Lois if he dilly-dallied anymore, so he made his way down to the parking lot and started his car. After dropping by his apartment to change and pick up something, he drove to the restaurant and found Lois already waiting at their reserved table.

"Hey, Smallville," Lois greeted with a smile as Clark hurried in.

"Am I late?" he asked worriedly, checking the time again.

"No, I was early. I ordered for you. The steak special. You should like that." She paused to take a sip of her drink while he sat down, then asked, "Did you finish your article?"

"Yes." Clark pushed his glasses up his nose and moved his chair in. "It's not front page material like your story on Clarinn's, but it's something."

"Yes, well, you got the front page last Christmas with that piece on the Teen Titans," Lois responded. "Fair is fair." She squinted at him calculatingly. "How did you get that information, anyway? Isn't Nightwing Batman's protégé?"

"Trade secret." Clark smiled knowingly.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. Besides, I gave you the exclusive on the founding of the Justice League, didn't I?"

"Yes, after I threatened you with a shoe for it," Lois said patiently. She arched an eyebrow. "What would Lex Luthor say if he knew the great Superman could be cowed into submission by a Prada high heel?"

"Lex doesn't know how hard you can hit someone with that shoe," Clark muttered. "I hope he's not planning anything this Christmas," he added darkly.

"He's not. I checked." Clark stared at her. "Oh, come on, Clark – he isn't quite _that _heartless."

"Lois, the man's tried to kill me more times than I care to count."

"All right, so he's a bastard, but he still has principles. I never would've dated him otherwise." Lois crossed her arms. "Why so cynical, anyway? Didn't you two used to be friends?"

"That was a long time ago, Lois – back in Smallville, when I was just Clark Kent and he wasn't a megalomaniac."

Their food arrived just then, so Lois couldn't make a comeback. Throughout dinner, Clark kept fiddling with something in his pocket. Lois noticed.

"Why so fidgety, Smallville?" she questioned. "Something on your mind?"

"Er, no," Clark denied. "Just trying not to…scratch an itch."

She peered at him closely, but decided not to press the issue. Clark breathed a sigh of relief.

After dinner, when the waiter came to take their order for dessert, Clark ordered lemon coconut cake – Lois' favorite, prompting a smile from her.

"Will that be all, sir?" the waiter asked.

"One more thing." Clark leaned over and whispered something in his ear, then pressed something into his hand. The waiter nodded and disappeared. Lois narrowed her eyes.

"What was that about?"

"Just a surprise." Clark refolded his napkin calmly.

"Clark…"

"Trust me, Lois – you'll like it."

A few minutes later, the waiter returned with two glasses of red wine. Lois raised her eyebrow.

"Wine, Clark?" she questioned as the waiter went back to the kitchen to get their cake. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"It's a special occasion." Clark raised his glass, holding it midway between him and Lois.

"Yes, I suppose Christmas _is _'that time of year'," Lois said shrewdly. She pretended to ignore Clark's puzzled frown as she clinked her glass against his. "Cheers, Smallville." As she sipped her wine, she carefully assessed Clark's reaction; she just knew that her reporter/superhero boyfriend was up to something.

Clark, meanwhile, took small swallows of his wine, diligently avoiding Lois' penetrating gaze.

Presently the waiter reappeared with two covered plates. He set Clark's down in front of him first, then Lois'. Then, winking at Clark, he lifted the cover on Lois' plate to reveal a luscious slice of lemon-glazed coconut cake that had a strange shiny glint.

"What on earth…" Lois began as the waiter tactfully backed away. That was when she noticed that the shiny glint was the diamond stone on the engagement ring nestled on the flowers decorating the cake. "Oh, my God." She stared up at Clark, completely shocked for once. For all her reporter instincts, she hadn't been expecting him to do _this_.

Nervous and excited yet calm at the same time, Clark reached over and plucked the ring from Lois' cake while she watched, stunned. He didn't get down on one knee because Lois always said that was clichéd; he simply took her left hand and held up the ring in front of her.

"Lois Lane," he began, "will you –"

"Shut up and put it on already," Lois interrupted, smiling at him.

Clark blinked. "Pardon?"

"I said you could put the ring on." She waggled her fingers to emphasize her point. "You don't need to finish the whole damn question when I'm giving you my answer already."

Clark stared at her. How was it that even though he'd planned this surprise, she still managed to catch him off guard? "Is that a yes?"

Lois sighed and rolled her eyes. "God, Smallville, you can be pretty dense sometimes, can't you?" she said fondly. She looked him in the eye. "Yes, Clark. I'm saying yes."

That was all the answer Clark needed. With a huge smile on his face, he gently slid the ring onto the fourth finger of Lois' left hand. Then he stood up and tossed some bills on the table.

"Come on," he said, still holding her hand, prompting her to rise from her seat.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Smallville. It's about time you met my parents."

Lois blinked. "Clark, don't be ridiculous," she protested, sitting back down. Before he had time to get hurt, she added, "We can put off the visit for twenty minutes. I'm not letting two slices of perfectly good lemon coconut cake go to waste."

Clark made a small "Oh" as he too sat down again and poked his fork into his cake. Lois clucked at him fondly, radiant with happiness despite her normal down-to-earth manner. Clark smiled as he watched her enjoy the sweetest lemon coconut cake she had ever had in her life.

Later, he would celebrate Christmas with his parents for the first time since leaving Smallville – and he would bring his fiancée with him.

* * *

_**A/N: Before any of you start asking, "Isn't this too soon for Clark and Lois to get engaged?", let me remind you that Diamond Earth's first story - Origins - opened about five to six years after Superman first started hero work. Therefore, by this point in time - Christmas 2002 - Clark and Lois have known each other for almost eight years - which is more than enough time for Lois to meet Superman, fall in love, discover his identity, blow up at Clark for concealing said identity, and settle into a steady relationship. **_

_**As a side note, this chapter was also a way for me to avenge the death of the Clark/Lois pairing in the New 52. When I discovered Superman/Wonder Woman was canon in 52, I was like "WTH?!" Seriously. Clark and Lois belong together - I don't care about Lana Lang or Chloe Sullivan or whoever else the media puts Superman with - for me, it's Clark and Lois all the way.  
**_

_**Need I even remind you that reviews are the best Christmas present you could give me? :)  
**_

_**TOMORROW: **A Question of Fortune**, featuring the debuts of two new characters to the Diamond Earth universe. Three guesses who, but don't worry if you get it wrong 'cause you'll find out tomorrow. Ta!  
**_


	2. A Question of Fortune

**_A/N: Right, so Golden Boy Superman didn't get many reviews, but I'm hoping that's just 'cause the story's new. It is, right?_  
**

**_Anyway, thanks to _**_leathman, Dextra2,__**and **EvilPurpleCookiePenkeyMongui n_**_ for reviewing - and congrats to Dextra2 for guessing today's characters. _**

* * *

**A Question of Fortune**

Crime in Gotham City did not cease simply because it was Christmastime. If anything, the crime rate jumped during the holiday season because the many criminals of Gotham's underworld knew the flood of last-minute Christmas shoppers meant that there would be more cash than usual in the registers. The most victimized at this time of year were the toy shops and department stores.

Of course, any thief intending to go on a looting spree had to be willing to face the consequences of their actions – mainly, swift and brutal retaliation from any of the three vigilantes working in the city.

Tonight, on Christmas Eve, Freddie Wilkins, a small-time crook who was part of a local gang, had decided to try his luck with a toy store on 9th Avenue. After waiting for the shop to close – somewhere around midnight – he'd successfully disarmed the alarm, broken in, and made away with three thousand dollars in cash. Naturally, he was feeling quite gleeful and rather pleased with himself.

However, his glee was replaced by stark cold terror when he noticed a shadow moving above the alley he was passing through. His first thought was, _Shit, I'm dead. _His second was, _God, please don't let it be Batman._

"My, my, that's a nice pile of money you have there. Planning on giving it to charity?"

Relief washed over Freddie for a moment. It was a woman's voice that had spoken, so he wasn't facing the Dark Knight. But then his blood ran cold as he realized that if it wasn't Batman, it had to be either Batgirl – who no doubt learned quite a bit from her mentor – or the Huntress – who was said to be almost as terrifying as Batman himself.

Freddie's opponent proved to be the latter. Huntress revealed herself by stepping out of the shadows, a crossbow in her hand.

At first, Freddie stared. Huntress was not dressed like your typical superhero – she wore a revealing black one-piece costume, thigh-high dark purple boots with fuchsia bands, long fingerless gloves similar in design to her boots, and a fuchsia-colored utility belt that fastened snugly around her waist. Despite the black cape flowing from the shoulders of her costume, the entire ensemble left a significant amount of skin bare; and while the purple cat's eye mask she wore may have concealed her identity, it sure as hell didn't do anything to hide her sensuous beauty. A red-blooded male like Freddie could be excused for losing coherent thoughts in her presence.

He recollected them pretty fast, however, when Huntress started advancing towards him.

"Look, lady, I don't want no trouble," he said, backing away.

"You know what's so sad about thieves?" Huntress asked. "They never seem to realize that they're not just stealing money." Freddie realized, too late, that she had him backed up against a wall now. "They're stealing time from themselves, too, because when they're caught they're locked up in prison for a long time."

Freddie had had enough. He reached for his waistband and whipped out a gun, keeping the bag of money clutched close to him with his other hand. "Back off, or I'll shoot," he declared, with much more confidence than he felt. He was scared, to be sure – but by George, he had worked hard for this haul. Disabling a state-of-the-art alarm system was no joke – he had _earned _this money.

Huntress scoffed and disarmed him in a matter of seconds, knocking the gun out of his hands and executing a series of punches and leg-sweeps that soon had him pinned to the ground.

"Just hand over the money, and I won't have to hurt you," she told him, sitting on his back.

"Argh – geroff me, you crazy bitch!"

Huntress' eyes gleamed as she pressed even more weight on him. She was rewarded by a pained yell.

"Aaagh!"

"What's it going to be, little man?"

Freddie opened his mouth to reply, but just then a hard club from a baseball bat made Huntress see stars.

"Come on, Freddie, let's go!" his rescuer exclaimed. Huntress' arm reached for her dropped crossbow, but another thug quickly kicked it away.

"Fine." Huntress growled. "I don't need that to take care of you."

There was the unmistakable click of a gun as a fourth gangster aimed his .22 at her. "Freeze," he ordered calmly.

Since he was too far away for her to safely disarm him, Huntress was forced to hold her hands up and watch as Freddie and his band of robbers slipped around the corner, taking the money with them.

Narrowing her eyes as the final criminal melted into the shadows, Huntress scowled in annoyance and bent to pick up her crossbow. When she noticed that the thug who had kicked it out of her reach had also snapped the bow string, she cursed colorfully.

"Quite a vocabulary you have there."

Huntress spun, midway pulling a dagger out of her boot before she saw the figure leaning half into the shadows.

"And who are you?" she demanded.

"That isn't the question you should be asking." The stranger came fully out of the shade so she could see that he was unarmed. He was wearing a businesslike suit and tie – he could have passed for an ordinary guy if it weren't for the blue trench coat and the featureless skin-colored mask.

"Oh, it's _you_," Huntress said, recognizing the faceless man as the Question, a non-powered vigilante who lived in Hub City. Gossip in the hero community pinned him as a bit of a loon – a conspiracy theorist who saw sinister connections everywhere. Oddly enough, he and Batman seemed to be friends, of a sort. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be chasing down some oblique conspiracy somewhere?"

"I am. My investigation into the pheromone-altering properties of lime Jell-O led me to a large processed food company here in Gotham."

Huntress stared at him. "Pheromone-altering lime Jell-O?" she questioned (no pun intended) incredulously.

"Indeed." Question nodded solemnly. "My research indicates that lime Jell-O might be an experiment in mind-control. Haven't you ever wondered why most people prefer strawberry-flavored Jell-O, yet still choose to eat the lime instead?"

"I don't eat Jell-O, so I don't really care what flavors other people eat."

"A wise choice," Question approved. "You can never be too careful with Jell-O. I have reason to believe even the strawberry-flavored product may contain some potentially harmful chemicals."Have

"Right." Huntress took out her grapple gun. "Though I'd love to stay and chat some more about the evils of Jell-O, I have to fix my crossbow and start tracking those idiot thieves before they get too far."

"What's so important about catching a few petty thieves?" Question wanted to know.

"Um, maybe because they're criminals, and I'm a vigilante hero – sort of, anyway?"

"It was only a few thousand dollars," Question pointed out. "If you lodge a report with the police I'm sure they'll apprehend the thieves eventually. It would be a more effective use of your time."

"Gotham police? Effective?" Huntress laughed. "What universe do you live in?"

"Again, that's the wrong question," Question said.

"Is there a _right _question?" Huntress wondered.

"Yes. Why do you care so much about that stolen money?"

Huntress sighed in exasperation. "God, you're infuriating," she said.  
"Look, that particular toy store they stole from sets aside three thousand dollars each year from their Christmas sales to donate to the St. Anne's Girls' Home. If that three thousand is stolen by a bunch of morons, St. Anne's doesn't get the cash it needs to pay rent. It'll close down, and those girls will have nowhere to go. They could end up on the streets, or worse."

"Interesting," Question commented. "And were you, by any chance, one of the girls in St. Anne's?"

"What are you – that has nothing to do with…" Question's featureless face stopped her midsentence. "So what if I was?" she challenged.

"So nothing. I'm simply trying to understand you."

"Lots of people have tried and failed, buddy."

"Perhaps I'll be the first. You intrigue me, Helena."

Huntress froze. "What did you call me?"

"Isn't that your name?" Question asked.

"How the hell do you know that?" she demanded.

"I do my research."

Huntress glared at him. "I swear, if you tell anyone…"

"Vic Sage."

That threw her. "What?"

"My name is Vic Sage," Question repeated. "Now you can be certain that I have no intention of revealing your identity – because otherwise why would I tell you something you can use against me to equal effect?"

Huntress stared at him, trying to figure out this enigmatic, faceless being who had intruded upon her Christmas Eve. "You're a weird guy, you know that?"

"'Weird' is a relative term." Question moved towards her. "Oughtn't we be leaving, if we're going to ensure St. Anne's gets their money?"

"We?"

"I'm offering you my help, of course."

Huntress frowned, obviously weighing the benefits of an extra pair of hands against the potential drawbacks of working with a paranoid like Question.

"Two heads are better than one," he prompted.

Huntress made her decision. "Fine. You can help," she agreed. "On one condition: you don't talk about lime Jell-O."

* * *

Huntress decided that if Question knew her name, he also knew where she lived, so she figured letting him see her apartment while she replaced her bow string wouldn't do any harm. After that was done, they went back out to the city.

"I know the gang the thieves work for," Huntress said. "They call themselves the Rollergang – they're a small-time operation. They tend to lead me to the big fish without even knowing it, so normally I leave them alone."

"Do they have a headquarters?" Question inquired.

"Yeah – a dingy little warehouse on the waterfront. If we're lucky, that's where our boy Freddie would have taken the money." She took out her grapple gun, intending to fire.

"What are you doing with that?" Question asked interestedly.

"Duh. It's my method of transportation."

"Would you mind traveling in my car instead?"

"You brought your car? Why didn't you mention this sooner?"

"I didn't think I needed to. Did you think I walked here from Hub City?"

* * *

Luck turned out not to be on their side. Upon arriving at Rollergang's waterfront headquarters, they found several people hovering around the area, but there was no sign of Freddie, his three friends, or the money.

"Great," Huntress muttered.

"Surely you had a plan for tracking them if they _didn't _return to their headquarters?" Question said.

"I didn't think I needed one," Huntress admitted grudgingly. "They've never gone anywhere else. But I guess Freddie and his friends got greedy this year and decided not to share the spoils."

"The best way to track someone is to think like they do," Question said.

"Think like Freddie?" Huntress snorted. "I'll pass, thanks."

"If you want to find the money, that's what you have to do," he told her. "Now, imagine you were Freddie – a small-time thief who doesn't want to share his latest catch. You have three thousand dollars in cash, three or four friends, and a few guns among you. Where would you go?"

Huntress shrugged. "Somewhere in the city, I guess. Some place I know well, but which the others in Rollergang aren't familiar with. Maybe an old building with a table for dividing the money out – definitely somewhere far from Rollergang headquarters, too, because I doubt the others would be too happy with me keeping the loot for myself."

"Good," Question said approvingly. "Now, which part of Gotham is the farthest from the waterfront?"

"The west sector," Huntress replied. Then her eyes lit up as she realized, "There's a whole street there of abandoned shops – I bet he's in one of those."

"And anyone unintelligent enough to rob a toy store in a city you guard is bound to have left some clues lying about," Question added.

"Is that supposed to be sarcastic?"

"Not at all."

* * *

Question's theory proved to be right. Once they got to the old street on the west side of the city, they found that Freddie had left ample evidence behind. The muddy footprints, the recently-smoked cigarettes, and the empty bullet shell casings all pointed to one old music shop in the middle of the street. Freddie and five other Rollergang members were huddled inside, squabbling indignantly over who should get how much of the three thousand.

"Those morons," Huntress said, watching two men pummel each other over the table on which the bills were stacked. "Three thousand dollars divides evenly into six shares."

"Nobody ever said street thieves have high IQ's," Question observed.

Huntress loaded her crossbow. "Come on. Let's go beat some sense into them."

The two vigilantes burst into the shop and started systematically taking down the Rollergang members inside. In all honesty, it must be pointed out that it was a rather unfair fight. No one had ever accused the Rollergang of being good fighters, and it was only a stroke of luck that Freddie's friends had managed to catch Huntress off guard earlier. Taken by surprise and up against two experienced opponents (Question was an excellent hand-to-hand combatant for a man without a face, Huntress noted), they didn't stand a chance. Within minutes of Huntress and Question storming their hideout, the thieves fled in terror. As one shrewd fellow eloquently put it, "Three thousand dollars ain't worth _this_!"

Question watched them run. "Are you going to let them go?"

"Leave them." Huntress swept the stacks of cash into a small bag. "We have what we came for."

"Since we have it in our possession, why don't we just make the delivery to St. Anne's ourselves instead of giving it back to the toy store to do it?" Question suggested.

Huntress nodded, smiling slightly. "That's the best idea you've had all night."

* * *

It didn't take long for them to reach St. Anne's. Everyone inside was asleep, of course, as it was only four o' clock in the morning; so in true Santa Claus fashion, Huntress dropped the money down the chimney. Whoever swept the fireplace the next morning would find a very sooty bag full of three thousand dollars, with a note explaining where it had come from. Huntress had also remembered to leave a message on the toy store counter telling them that she'd relieved a thief of the three thousand and taken the liberty to deliver it to St. Anne's.

However, Huntress had forgotten to take into account the fact that St. Anne's took in girls of all ages, including those young enough to still believe in Santa Claus. One such five-year-old girl happened to be in the large common room where the fireplace was – she had probably snuck down after lights out to wait for Santa – and she was awoken from her sleep by the dusty thud the bag of money made when it hit the floor. As Huntress and Question watched, the girl carefully unzipped the bag; a radiant smile lighted her face when she saw what was inside.

"Santa brought us money!" she proclaimed joyfully, dashing off to wake the house and deliver the good news.

"Well, I say that's a job well done," Question said, with a faint hint of a smile in his voice. "We're not needed here anymore, Huntress."

"Wait." Huntress held up a hand to make him pause as she continued watching through the snow-frosted window. Inside the house, a grey-haired lady with a sweet, motherly face had appeared in the common room to validate the truth of the five-year-old girl's claim that Santa had dropped off money for them.

"Mrs. Holloway," Huntress whispered. Question glanced at her quizzically.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Holloway saw for herself the three thousand dollars, and when she read the note that came with it, her hand flew to her mouth in surprise. "Oh!" She turned and gazed sharply out the window, but Huntress was quick to duck to avoid being seen. Question, of course, did not miss this.

"You added a personal message in that note, didn't you?" he said shrewdly.

Huntress shrugged. "What the hell, right? It's Christmas. Mrs. Holloway took care of me after my parents died, loved me like I was her daughter – and when I turned eighteen, I left and never looked back." She looked back at the window; Mrs. Holloway was smiling and patting the little girl on the shoulder. "She deserves a little something to know I appreciate all she's done."

Question observed her curiously. "You're not as tough as you want people to think you are, are you, Helena?"

"And _you_'re not quite as pragmatic as you pretend to be," she returned. "You didn't have to help me, you know."

Question shrugged. "I wanted to. It was…logical."

"Even though it took time away from your Jell-O investigation?" Huntress arched an eyebrow. "Face it, Q – you've got a sentimental side. Otherwise why would you help me?"

"Now that," he said, "is the question." He tipped his fedora at her. "Merry Christmas, Helena." He slipped into the shadows and disappeared, leaving Huntress alone near the home.

"Merry Christmas…Vic."

* * *

_**A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters in the entire fic. **_

_**TOMORROW: Another Justice League Founder appears in a chapter titled **Evergreen**. Who knew explaining Christmas could be this difficult?  
**_


	3. Evergreen

**_A/N: Thanks to my four reviewers _**_EvilPurpleCookiePenkeyMongui n, The Violet Rose, Dextra2,_**_ and _**_leathman_**_._**

**_There is some religious content in this chapter. Those of you who've read my profile will know that I am a devoted and faithful Christian, but I fully respect the beliefs of others. Christmas is a very Christian holiday, though it's been commercialized in modern times - but I have tried to make the chapter as neutral as possible. I want to make it clear that I am not putting down people of other faiths or opinions - but the person you are tends to be reflected in your writing, so if my faith does show through, I trust you'll forgive me. After all, what does it matter what religion we belong to so long as we are good and kind at heart?_**

* * *

**Evergreen**

_"I can't believe the Air Force has you doing training runs during Christmas."_

"Carol, I know it's not ideal, but that's the way we work," Hal explained. "We take turns running the Christmas shifts every year, so everyone still gets the chance to celebrate with their families other years."

_"Did you sign an extra participation form or something?" _Carol asked suspiciously.

"No. Why?"

_"Because the Air Force has been putting you on a lot of duties lately. At least, I assume that's what's been taking up so much of your time."_

"Er…yeah, more or less," Hal replied uncomfortably. "Listen, Carol, I gotta get up in the air in a minute. I'll call you, okay?"

_"Whatever, Hal. Just don't expect your Christmas present to wait for you if you come back after the 26th."_

Hal winced mentally as he cut off the line by releasing the hold of his will from the green headphone conjured by his power ring. He felt guilty lying to Carol, but he didn't have much choice.

The fact of the matter was, he wasn't doing training runs for the U.S. Air Force. No – he'd been summoned to Oa for some sort of compulsory Lantern training workshop, as had the rest of the Green Lantern Corps. Hal hadn't liked to protest the timing of the workshop because: 1) the Guardians themselves had set the date; 2) he was the newest (and youngest, technically) of the Corps; and 3) as the sole human in the Corps, he was the only one from a planet that celebrated Christmas, and he didn't want to be the only Green Lantern requesting a schedule shift or permission to be absent. So instead of having dinner with Carol or downing bubbly by the pint on Christmas Eve, he was on his way to Oa.

For Carol's sake, though, he sincerely hoped the Guardians wouldn't be too long-winded. The workshop was supposed to last only thirty hours, excluding breaks for meals and naps – if all went well, he should be able to make it back to Earth the day after Christmas. His and Carol's relationship had settled somewhat as he learned to balance the various aspects of his double life, but she still didn't appreciate being stood up and then fed some half-baked excuse for why he hadn't shown. If he said he would be back on the 26th, he'd damn well better be back on the 26th.

Oa was located near the center of the universe. Most Green Lanterns casually described it as being directly_ at_ the center of the universe, but the Guardians, ever politically correct, constantly insisted that since the galaxies continually had their positions adjusted as the universe moved through the temporal plane, Oa's location could only accurately be designated as _near _the center. The home planet of the Guardians, Oa had probably started out as a brownish red, desert-like planet similar to Mercury, but millennia of hosting the Central Power Battery had infused its entire globe with a greenish hue; and careful cultivation by the Oans who'd migrated there from the now-destroyed planet Maltus had turned the sphere from a barren, lifeless landscape to a sprawling worldwide city of towering architecture and advanced technology. Hal had come to view Oa as a secondary home – because it _was _a beautiful planet in its own way – but it also reminded him that Earth was painfully backwards when compared to some of the other worlds protected by the Green Lantern Corps.

"Glad you could make it." Sinestro, a native of the planet Korugar and Green Lantern of Sector 1417, nodded amiably as Hal alighted on the wide platform outside the Headquarters of the Green Lantern Corps.

"Didn't have much choice, did I?" Hal said. Sinestro raised one pencil-thin eyebrow, causing Hal to duck his head uncomfortably.

Thaal Sinestro was one of the longest-serving and most highly respected Green Lanterns in the Corps. Though the Guardians insisted that all Corps members were equal, with no one having any sort of power over the others, it was common knowledge within the Corps that they considered Sinestro to be the most able leader. When Hal first donned the ring, it had sent a signal to its 3,599 fellow rings, alerting the other Green Lanterns that a Corps member's power ring had changed hands. This was, apparently, unprecedented in the Corps' history, as a power ring would normally return to Oa of its own volition when its bearer died. Two Green Lanterns, an ichthyologic humanoid named Tomar-Re and a sentient squirrel-like being called Ch'p, had arrived on Earth to investigate. Upon finding Hal and learning of Abin Sur's death, they had taken him to Oa for the orientation process, after which the Guardians assigned Sinestro as his mentor.

Hal and Sinestro had since formed a cordial relationship; on top of being his mentor, Hal now considered Sinestro to be his friend. The feeling seemed to be mutual – Sinestro had told Hal certain things about himself, including the facts that Abin Sur had been his mentor and that Sur's sister was his late wife. Hal had had quite a shock after learning _that_.

Sinestro was also the one who kept Hal in line. Hal had only been serving as a Green Lantern for just over fifteen months, and he still had much to learn from Sinestro's experience. Sinestro liked to complain that Hal was too impulsive and cocky in attitude, and therefore it was difficult to teach him anything – but he knew Hal valued his advice, even if he rarely followed it.

"The Guardians have the right intentions," Sinestro told him. "In order for us to be effective as an agency of peace, we must continually improve ourselves."

Hal sighed. "I know, I know." Sinestro clapped him on the back.

"Don't look so glum, Jordan. It'll be over before you know it. And who knows? – you might actually learn something."

* * *

Hal sighed mournfully as he picked at the shapeless glop on his plate. _How is it, _he wondered, _that Greet can replicate countless foods from thousands of planets perfectly, but he can't fix a decent Earth hot dog? _The Oan who was the executive chef at Green Lantern Headquarters was brilliantly versed in all manner of dishes and culinary delights from practically every planet except Earth, most unfortunately for Hal. He'd had to settle for a purple broth that was, according to Ch'p, all the rage on his home planet, H'lven.

The workshop wasn't so bad, Hal decided. He was still bummed that it was being held during Christmas, but the Guardians sure knew how to train their Green Lanterns. The 3,600 Corps members had been divided into 36 groups of 100, in order of their sector numbers; and each group rotated sessions with different Guardians. Hal's group included Tomar-Re (Sector 2813) and Arisia Rrab (Sector 2815). Their first session had been Meditation with Appa Ali Apsa, then Willpower with Ganthet, and now they were on break for lunch. Ch'p and Salaak (Sectors 1014 and 1418, respectively) had joined them at their table.

"Jordan. What are you eating?" Sinestro questioned, eyeing the purple mush on Hal's plate as he came over with his own tray.

"It's il'rwys," Ch'p chittered. "One of my favorites from H'lven. It's delightfully tasty and highly nutritious."

"To H'lvenites, maybe," Sinestro said. "But Jordan is an Earthling – I doubt fibergrass and Anatolian wood lice would sit well with him."

Hal suppressed an automatic gag reflex and pushed his plate away. "You've gotta be kidding."

"Not even a little." Sinestro sat down and swapped his plate with Hal's. "Here. Broiled roots and lichens from Korugar. It's a close enough match for the nutrients you actually need."

"Thanks."

Sinestro turned to Ch'p. "In future, Ch'p, please remember that not all Green Lanterns are able to consume a H'lvenite diet."

"I told you so," Tomar-Re said exasperatedly to Ch'p, who looked disappointed that Hal's human digestive system didn't allow him to appreciate il'rwys.

Hal shoved a spoonful of Korugan roots into his mouth and was surprised to find them juicy and sweet. _Not bad. _He took another bite and nearly choked when a large, heavy hand slapped his shoulder.

"How's it going, poozer?" Kilowog (Sector 674) asked.

Hal hurriedly swallowed his mouthful. "Okay," he gasped through his coughs. Arisia helpfully passed him a cup of water.

Kilowog sat down, making the table shake a little. "You had Battle Tactics with Ranakar yet?"

"That's our next session," Arisia replied.

"How did your group perform?" Sinestro inquired. Kilowog snorted.

"You wouldn't believe how pathetic some of the Corpsmen are. Ranakar was almost ready to kill them himself when twenty of them couldn't beat the simulation."

"Yes, Lianna appeared quite impatient with some of the Lanterns in Salaak's and my group for not grasping the concept of teamwork." Sinestro sounded thoughtful. "It seems a training workshop is long overdue."

"I wish they hadn't put it _now_ specifically, though," Hal said glumly. He sighed again as he glanced at his watch, which was still set to Pacific Standard Time. It read past midnight, which meant it was officially Christmas Day back in Coast City.

"Why so morose, Jordan?" Arisia inquired. "The workshop isn't _that _bad. Even Salaak admitted it – right, Salaak?"

The four-armed insectoid merely grunted.

"No, it's not that," Hal said. "It's just…well…back on Earth, it's Christmas."

"Christmas?" Kilowog repeated quizzically.

"Yeah, it's an important holiday occasion on my world," Hal explained.

"Earth has numerous holidays," Salaak spoke up for the first time. "What is so special about this one?"

"Well…" Hal began slowly, "Christmas is the one time of the year when everyone sort of sets aside their differences and helps each other out."

"Really?" Kilowog sounded skeptical. "_Everyone _miraculously becomes kind and generous overnight?"

"Well, maybe not _everyone_," Hal amended. "But a lot of people."

"Why can't they do that other times of the year?" Arisia wanted to know.

"Um…" Hal wondered how to explain. He settled on, "There's just something about Christmas, that's all. It reminds people that life isn't just about grabbing everything we can, that there are others besides us who need help."

"They should have that mentality at all times," said Sinestro.

"Yes, but sadly, most of us don't," said Hal. "But the good thing about Christmas is it brings that idea to the forefront at least once every year – the world is a generally nicer place around Christmastime because many more people get into the spirit of the holiday."

Tomar-Re looked amazed at Hal's use of the word 'spirit'. "The holiday is sentient?"

"No, no – what I mean is people embrace the ideals of Christmas."

"And these ideals are…?"

"Well, Christmas is a season of joy, giving, faith, and love," Hal explained. "So for the whole holiday season, we follow certain traditions meant to embody those ideals. We do a lot of things around Christmastime to that effect."

"Such as?" Kilowog asked.

"Put up a Christmas tree, for one," Hal replied. "Every year each family finds an evergreen tree to put in their home. We hang lights and ornaments on it – it becomes a symbol of Christmas."

"Trees are good." Ch'p nodded solemnly.

Hal continued, "We go caroling, singing songs to bring cheer and goodwill to others; we donate to charities; we get together with friends and family members and give each other gifts…"

"I have a question," Arisia interrupted. "How did the tradition of Christmas begin?"

Hal had to think very, very carefully about that. "It depends who you ask," he said finally. "Christmas is tied in very closely with a religion called Christianity. According to those who follow this religion – Christians – Christmas is the anniversary of the day someone called Jesus Christ was born."

"Why is he so important?"

"Well, Christians believe that Jesus was the Son of God – they believe he was a great prophet who came to save them from their sins by dying on a cross. Then he conquered death by rising from the dead."

Salaak looked thoughtful. "That sounds similar to a story we have on Slyggia."

Hal was startled. "Really?" Salaak shrugged.

"So only Christians celebrate Christmas?" Tomar-Re inquired.

"No, lots of non-Christians do too."

"How can they celebrate an occasion that commemorates an event they do not believe in?" Sinestro demanded.

"Not everyone thinks Christmas is Jesus' birthday," Hal clarified. "Some non-Christians think Christmas originated from winter festivals celebrated by ancient civilizations. Others don't hold to the Christian explanation, but they celebrate it anyway because it's become so much a part of Earth culture. Christmas _started _with the Christians, but over time others have come to celebrate it too," he finished. "They might not believe in Jesus Christ or the Christian origin story of the holiday, but they do believe in the general spirit of the season."

Sinestro considered that. "And you?" he asked. "Do _you _believe in the Christian tradition?"

Hal mulled over the question. "I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "I was raised Christian, but I haven't decided if I do believe yet."

"And yet you're disappointed that you cannot be home to celebrate Christmas because of this workshop," Sinestro observed. "This is a strange holiday."

"It might be strange, but it's wonderful too," Hal said. "The feeling you get around Christmas – nothing beats it."

There was a slight lull in the conversation as everyone ate their food.

"Well," said Sinestro presently, checking the time, "we still have twenty-five hours of the workshop to attend. The next session starts in ten minutes."

"Don't go anywhere, poozer," Kilowog told Hal as he stood up. "I want to hear more about this Christmas at the next break."

"Me too!" Ch'p twittered before bounding off.

"As do I," Salaak seconded. "It is…most interesting."

"See you later, Jordan," Sinestro said, walking off with Salaak to rejoin their group.

"We should go too," Arisia said to Hal. "Ranakar doesn't like it when people are late."

"You guys go ahead – I still have to finish my lunch." Hal gestured to his still-half-full bowl of roots.

"Don't take too long," Tomar-Re warned. Hal flashed him a thumbs-up in reply, and his two group mates went away.

As he slurped down his remaining food, Hal contemplated everything he'd just said. To him, Christmas was a beautiful time of year that he liked celebrating, but until he'd tried to explain the holiday to his fellow Green Lanterns, he had never thought much about the meaning behind it. His friend Ace Morgan was a true-blood Christian who enjoyed Christmas to the fullest, but Hal himself hadn't attended church in years. Now, though, he found himself wondering if, maybe, the Christians had it right after all. Now that he was a Green Lantern, and he'd seen the true extent of the cosmos, he couldn't imagine how it, with all its many complex species, could have evolved from pure chance. The very design of the universe spoke of some pre-determined plan.

_Maybe I'll get Ace to explain it to me, _he mused as he gulped down the last of the roots.

"Jordan! Get your behind here pronto!" someone commanded.

"Coming!" he called back.

_ Provided, of course, that I survive Ranakar's tactics session._

* * *

_**A/N: I did quite a bit of research to get the names of the Lanterns and their sectors. There is a story coming up centering on the Green Lanterns Corps that involves Hal and the rest of the GL's, so this chapter was to delve a bit into that as well. **  
_

_**TOMORROW: We take a more serious tone with **The Whisper of Hope**, as one young heroine remembers that Christmas is a time for hope.  
**_


	4. The Whisper of Hope

**_A/N: Thank you to _**_Dextra2, EvilPurpleCookiePenkeyMong__uin,_**_ and _**_leathman_**_ for reviewing on the last chapter. _  
**

**_This chapter explains and builds on something mentioned in _**_Origins_**_, as well as sets the stage for a future story.  
_**

* * *

**The Whisper of Hope**

_It's raining again._

Zatanna scowled fiercely at the cloudy grey skies as she opened up her large navy blue umbrella. The storm made the late afternoon look like twilight, and she didn't care much for the change.

_It's Christmas Eve. It's not supposed to rain on Christmas Eve. _She considered casting some weather magic to make the sun come out, but decided against it. _No sense wasting the effort._ _It probably wouldn't do much good, anyway – the Olympic peninsula must be the wettest place in North America._

Her mobile home was parked just a few blocks from the theater she was performing at until the end of December, so she got there within a few minutes. Shaking rainwater off her umbrella, she muttered a spell to dry it instantly before closing it up and flinging open the door to her trailer.

_Home, sweet home. _She tossed the umbrella against the wall and moved to the kitchenette to make herself some hot tea. With a snap of her fingers, the blue lights on her tiny plastic Christmas tree blinked on and started twinkling merrily. Zatanna had never been one for the traditional red and gold of Christmas – she preferred the mysterious allure of blues and silvers, and had decorated her tree accordingly. The white tree hung with silver tinsel and just a few ornaments was her sole concession to the interior design bug that seemed to hit everyone at Christmastime.

Zatanna sat with her cup of tea between her hands at the small dining table, staring at her tree. Having finished her Christmas Eve afternoon show, she was free until the 26th; she never did shows on Christmas Eve night or Christmas Day. It was a firm personal rule she had set for herself from the moment she started making her living as an illusionist. Christmas was a time for family, not for gallivanting out to every mall or party there was. She supposed it didn't really make a difference whether she performed on Christmas or not – people would go out elsewhere if not to her shows – but she wouldn't have them at her magic show when they should be home with their loved ones. Zatanna knew only too well that such treasured times with family could suddenly and abruptly become impossible.

The flickering lights on her white tree suddenly changed their blinking pattern, casting shadows that brought into relief the handcrafted six-pointed star on the top branch. Zatanna knew that ornament well – she and her father had made it together, without using a single ounce of magic. They'd taken metallic blue, black, and silver threads, then handwoven them all together in a complex pattern of intricately-linked colors, so tightly that the star stood firm and hard despite the relatively flimsy material it had been made with. She still remembered her father's words after she had proudly tied the last knot in place.

_"Even the softest things can become strong and firm, if they are molded in the right way." _He had smiled and tugged her chin as she gazed at him with the keen eyes of an eleven-year-old. _"You are young and soft now, little magic maid, but eventually you will grow into a strong and confident person. Already you show signs of the woman you will one day be – and I am proud to call you my daughter."_

_Would you still be proud, Father? _she asked silently. _I have followed in your footsteps; I use my talents for good, like you always said to._

As she always did when she got pensive like this, she reached under her bed and retrieved the small box of mementos she kept there. Containing everything from magic books and family trees to photographs and trinkets, the 8 by 8 by 10 inch cuboid was worn with age and full of memories. Zatanna pulled out her favorite snapshot; in it, Giovanni Zatara stood tall and proud in full magician regalia, one arm around his seventeen-year-old daughter. The colors and print had faded somewhat since the picture was first taken in 1994, but Zatanna kept it because she didn't have anything more recent. This photo was the last taken of Zatara before he had disappeared from the community, and from her life, leaving behind only a solitary note that apologized for his absence and promised her he would return someday.

Since then, Zatanna had made it her life's mission to locate her missing father. The day she turned eighteen, thus becoming free of any restrictions her minority might pose, she had begun her search. She'd looked everywhere she could think of, visited all her father's friends, followed up the official police investigation – and she'd still come up with nothing more than a few half-baked leads. When one of these led her to Gotham City, she encountered Batman. The Dark Knight had unexpectedly offered her his help, and the two of them spent the next month turning up every stone they could. At the end of a fruitless search, a disheartened Zatanna had been ready to give up, but Batman told her not to. Being as frustrated as she was, she had not taken his encouragement well.

_"If my father wants to vanish and leave no trace of his whereabouts so that his own daughter can't find him, let him!" _she had yelled._ "He must know I need him, but he still doesn't care! Well, then, _I _won't care!"_

Zatanna regretted saying something so rash now, but at the time she'd been angry, hurt, and confused. Batman, stoically as ever, had quickly set her straight.

_"I knew your father, Zatanna, and believe me, he _does _care."_

_ "How do you know my father?"_

In response, Batman had pulled off his cowl – it was one of the extremely few times, if not the _only _time, that he had voluntarily revealed his identity. Zatanna could still remember the shock she'd felt when she discovered that Batman was Bruce Wayne, Gotham's billionaire prince and one-time apprentice under her father. She'd known him when he was just a bitter twenty-one-year-old with a grudge against the world for taking his parents away from him, and she a girl of fourteen, just beginning high school. Seeing the change in him as Batman had calmed her down and restored her faith in the order of the world, renewing her hope that she would one day find her father.

Of course, then Batman had to go and suggest that perhaps the reason Zatara had not returned was because he'd died – which Zatanna vehemently refuted.

_"No, he's alive. I have to believe he's alive."_

And she had maintained this belief ever since. She had, on occasion, lost hope and felt like giving up, but something inside her kept spurring her on. Zatara was the only parent she'd known, as her mother, Sindella, had died a few weeks after Zatanna was born – and the memory of her father would not let her rest until she found him, dead or alive.

She chose to believe the latter.

_Christmas is a time for hope. I have hope that you're alive somewhere. _She touched two fingers to her lips and pressed the kiss onto her father's image in the photograph. _I will find you, Father, _she vowed. _And I do believe that you would be proud of me._

As usual, she received no reply to her silent thoughts. All she had was the hope that her absent father really was still alive somewhere, and that he would indeed be proud of her.

* * *

_**A/N: I know, I know - Batman guards his secret identity vigorously, and doesn't tell it to ANYBODY - but I think for Zatanna he would have made an exception. They're extremely close, after all.**_

_**TOMORROW: How hard can it be to find just one positive attitude among the students of a high school? You'd be surprised.  
**_


	5. Diamond in the Rough

**_A/N: Thanks so much to _**_AidenSurvival, doglover500, Dextra2,_**_ and _**_leathman_**_ for reviewing!_  
**

**_Today's chapter features someone introduced in _**_Origins_**_. It's one of the shortest in the entire collection._**

* * *

**Diamond in the Rough**

Jefferson Pierce frowned as he marked essay after essay, scoring through words with a red pen. He had no idea the general mentality among the students at his school was so pessimistic.

As Principal of Garfield High School (one of only three high schools in the small town), it wasn't necessarily Jefferson's jurisdiction to assign papers to the students, but he'd wanted to get their opinions, so before school had let out for the holidays he'd set them all a special paper: an essay of any length describing how they saw Christmas. Jefferson was hoping that the seasonal topic would bring out some cheer in the teenagers who, sadly, lived in a town that had earned well its nickname of 'Suicide Slum'.

However, it seemed his idea hadn't worked. Every essay he'd graded so far reflected the grey, cynical outlook most people in Southside had. A few were doubtfully hopeful, but overall, pessimism ran rampant among the students of Garfield. The underlying themes of all the essays could be summed up in either one of two lines. If it wasn't, _'Christmas in Southside is not the merry holiday it is in other cities'_, it was, _'There is, unfortunately, no spirit of Christmas present in Southside, despite everyone's wishes otherwise.' _

He would have to do something about the defeatist attitude of his students, he resolved as he tiredly graded yet another negative paper. He did his best to inculcate hope and optimism in the pupils at Garfield, and this little project proved he still had a long way to go before the youth of Southside were willing to see their crime-ridden town as anything other than a Suicide Slum.

"Jeff? Are you up here?"

"Yes, dear," Jefferson responded to his wife's query. "I'm in my study."

"What are you doing in – oh." Lynn Stewart glared at her husband accusingly. "I told you not to mark those tonight," she scolded.

"I know, I know." Jefferson sighed. "You were right – there isn't a single optimistic piece here – at least, none that I've come across so far. What is wrong with these teenagers?"

Lynn softened. "They just need someone to point out the good there is in this town."

"I've _been _doing that for the past four years. Where has it gotten me?"

"There are some college students from Southside who no longer believe murder is the primary occupation here," Lynn pointed out dryly.

"That's not good enough."

"I know it's not." Lynn walked over to Jefferson. "But it's all we have at the moment." She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. "Leave those papers for now, Jeff – they'll only get you down. It's Christmas Eve; Anissa and Jen will be home soon from their shopping, your parents are coming over, and I need you to be your usual positive self, because I must be the only woman in this town who found a man who isn't always doom and gloom."

"The _only _woman?" Jefferson teased.

"Well, one of the few women, anyway," Lynn amended.

"All right, I'll be down in twenty minutes."

Lynn fixed him with a stare. "Jeff…"

"Just ten more papers, I promise," he vowed.

"Ten essays in twenty minutes?" Lynn sounded skeptical; Jefferson pointed at himself.

"Black _Lightning_, remember?"

"Nice try, pal." She shook her head fondly. "All right, twenty minutes it is. I expect you downstairs in the dining room at seven-twenty _sharp_."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jefferson grinned as his wife rolled her eyes and went out. Then he plucked another bundle of paper from the stack on his desk. He'd only marked about fifty essays so far, and there were three hundred students total in Garfield, so who knew? – maybe he'd find the first genuinely optimistic composition before Christmas Eve dinner.

* * *

_**A/N: Quick explanation: In the comics, Southside is a borough of Metropolis, but I've made it a separate town in Diamond Earth. **_

_**TOMORROW: A unique bunch of villains celebrates Christmas in a way only they can. Also introducing: a new twist on a classic poem.  
**_


	6. T'was the Night before Christmas

**_A/N: We have a slight change in reviewer line-up today, so here's saying thanks to _**_leathman, Dextra2, doglover500,_**_ and _**_Powerman__911_**_! _  
**

**_You guys guessed that it would be the Central City Rogues today, and you're right! Who else would celebrate Christmas this way?_**

* * *

**T'was the Night before Christmas**

_T'was the night before Christmas, not a soul was in sight_  
_When the prodigal genius did express his delight_  
_That the shops on the street were all darkened and black,_  
_For he'd come prepared with a big burlap sack._

_His assistant beside him, he crept through the roads_  
_All silent and stealthy, like an old astute toad,_  
_Till they reached the toy shop with its train tracks and dolls,_  
_Its knickknacks and trinkets, and boxes and balls._

_Our good thief reached in, and then cut the wire_  
_That fed the alarm, like a groaning worn tire._  
_It snapped like a twig, that flimsy stretched cable,_  
_And, unopposed, they entered the stable._

"_Stable_?" Pied Piper demanded incredulously, choking on his drink.

"_You_ try rhyming something with 'cable'," Captain Boomerang groused. "It ain't easy."

"Yes, but _stable_?" Piper repeated. "I know you're Australian, but you _do_ know what 'stable' means, right?"

"It's close enough," Boomerang defended.

"It's where _horses_ are kept!" Piper exclaimed. "_Horses_, Digger! You can't compare a toy shop to a horse's house!"

"_Who_'s telling the story, now?"

"_I_ will," Piper said. "You're telling it all wrong."

Captain Cold chortled into his frosted milk. "Getting carried away, are we, Digger?"

"Aw, shaddup, Len."

"Well, go on, then," Mirror Master said to Pied Piper. "If Boomer's not telling it right, how exactly did it happen?"

"Well, first of all, I wasn't an _assistant_. I was his partner, well and truly – we were _equals_. And the alarm wire didn't 'snap like a twig', and he certainly didn't cut it, and…"

"Rhyme!" the Trickster broke in, banging his mug on the table and causing his eggnog to spill over. "You have to tell it in rhyme! That's the rule!"

"Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway?" Captain Boomerang grumbled.

"Mine," Trickster said, almost-glaring at him. "It's a _good_ idea for us to share stories of our villainous Christmas deeds. It'll help us become better Rogues," he added brightly.

"It's a pity Weather Wizard is still in Iron Heights," Mirror Master whispered conspiratorially to Captain Cold. "He's the only one who might've been able to talk Trickster out of this ridiculous story-telling idea."

"I'm not missing the Top, though," Captain Cold confided. "He'd be even worse than Trickster with his terrible top puns."

"A_hem_." Pied Piper cleared his throat. "_This_ is how it _really_ went."

_T'was the night before Christmas, and two Central Rogues_  
_Gave up on listening to TV monologues._  
_They decided instead to go rob a store,_  
_Stock up on cash, and then rob some more._

_ When they got to the shop, Captain Boomer was cringing,_  
_Said, "I can't cut the wire without the bell ringing."_  
_So they then elected to unlock the doors;_  
_Whose idea was that? The Piper's, of course!_

_ A musical maestro, he played on his flute,_  
_Searching for a tune that would get them the loot._  
_When at last he discovered the right mix of notes,_  
_The locks clicked open. "Bingo," he quote._

_ They snuck to the counter and tapped on the cashier_  
_And pop! – it came open like a peeled bacon rasher._  
_They loaded their bags with bundles of money –_  
_Bill notes of hundreds, fifties, and twenties._

_ Their dastardly deed accomplished and done with,_  
_They made their escape, as assassins from myth_  
_Did too depart the scene of their crime;_  
_The theft was inspiring, completely sublime._

"Oh, we're getting high and mighty, are we?" Captain Boomerang snorted inelegantly. "'Sublime'? 'Assassins from myth'?"

"Such a poem of villainy requires a lyrical touch," Pied Piper said loftily. "Artistic license is a necessity."

"Can 'artistic license' deny the fact that you two were caught by the Flash the minute you walked out of the store?" Mirror Master inquired innocently. Captain Boomerang and Pied Piper both scowled at him.

"That's beside the point," Piper muttered.

"Yeah, we still pulled it off before Flash got to us," Boomerang added. "We had the bag of money all ready to go – we just couldn't get away from Flash."

"And that is why your 'villainous Christmas deed' gets a big fat 'F'," Mirror Master mocked.

"F for Flash?" Trickster asked.

"F for fail," Captain Cold corrected.

"Oh." Trickster stared into his empty cup. "I'm gonna get some more eggnog," he announced. "When I get back, it's your turn." He pointed at Mirror Master, who waved dismissively.

"Whatever, Jesse."

Trickster grinned and made his way to the bar.

"Does anyone know what rhymes with 'orange'?" Mirror Master asked after a beat.

"Nothing does," Captain Cold said.

"Excuse me, but _who_'s the language prodigy here?" Pied Piper asked.

"'Orange' doesn't rhyme with anything," argued Captain Cold.

"Not perfectly, but good slant rhymes include words like 'range' and 'mange'."

"Yeah…not helping," Mirror Master said. He thought hard. "Dammit, why did Trickster have to suggest poetry?"

"Trust him to come up with something like this," Captain Boomerang mumbled in agreement.

Trickster came back to the table just then with a refilled mug of eggnog. "Okay, Scudder – you're up."

Mirror Master heaved a big sigh and began.

_T'was the night before Christmas, and I thought to myself,_  
_Why not imitate a Santa Claus elf?_  
_Those little critters nip here, in, and out,_  
_Taking all things with nary a pout._

_ So I put on my suit, the orange and green,_  
_My belt and my mask, and mirrors unseen._  
_I made my way out to the big City Bank,_  
_Where goods are thus stored by those who have rank._

_ I used my wits, my mirrors, my skill,_  
_Got into the bank and stole my fill._  
_I was halfway out the heavy vault doorway_  
_When my eye caught on the diamond display._

_It was a beautiful stone, all glitter and shine;_  
_It sparkled and shimmered, it truly was fine._  
_Placed there by someone with money a lot,_  
_T'was calling to me, so how could I not?_

_I walked straight to it and reached out my hand._  
_With one swift move, it came off its stand._  
_My prize acquired, I slipped through a mirror;_  
_I escaped undetected, with no one the wiser._

"Wait, when was this?" Pied Piper questioned. "I don't remember you successfully stealing a diamond."

"That's because he left out the part where Flash nabbed the diamond from his apartment and returned it to the bank," Captain Cold said snidely.

"Would you shut up?" Mirror Master hissed. "At least I wasn't caught in the act like Boomer and Piper."

"Hey, hey! No fighting," Trickster admonished. "This is supposed to be _fun_. Len, it's your turn."

"Oh, boy," Captain Cold muttered.

_T'was the night before Christmas, it was snowy and cold,_  
_And all the toy stores had long been outsold_  
_Of a certain toy truck in chrome black and blue_  
_That a Captain's young son had wanted since June._

"Aw, no!" Captain Boomerang complained. "Really, mate? Your greatest Christmas heist was when you stole the Lemais ice-cream truck for your kid?"

Captain Cold sniffed. "I prefer to spend Christmas with my wife and son, not working. I save my heists for other days. Someday, Digger, if you ever become a father, you will understand why I do the things I do."

Mirror Master snorted. "Boomer? A father? Never in a million years."

"Are you implying something about my ability to get a girl?" Boomerang challenged.

"Oy!" Trickster interjected. "Christmas Eve. No fighting," he reminded them. He glanced out the window. "Hey, who's that?"

The other Rogues looked outside as well and saw two costumed figures fleeting past.

"Copperhead and Shade?" Mirror Master said incredulously.

"What are _they_ doing here?" Pied Piper wondered.

As one, the five Rogues rushed out the door, Trickster lagging slightly behind. It was indeed Copperhead and Shade, obviously attempting to break into the costume jewelry store across the street.

"Oh, no they don't," Mirror Master said, taking out a reflective laser gun. "Come on, fellas – let's stop 'em."

"Chaaarge!" Trickster yelled as he and the other Rogues rushed at an astonished Copperhead and Shade.

Copperhead was easy enough to take out – a simple blast from Captain Cold's freeze gun froze the entire lower half of his body in solid ice.

Shade was harder to take care of. It took ten minutes and much effort on the parts of Mirror Master, Captain Boomerang, and Trickster to subdue him, while Pied Piper played a rousing battle tune on his flute.

"Oy, what gives?!" Copperhead demanded once Shade was successfully neutralized by Trickster's punch-in-a-box (a variation of a jack-in-a-box, whereby a huge boxing glove shot out and knocked Shade semi-unconscious). "You're s'posed to be villains."

"Oh, we are." Captain Cold casually re-holstered his cold gun. "But let's get one thing straight, sonny – this is _our_ city, and _we_'re the only ones who get to commit crimes here. Anyone else tries to do it, and we hit 'em back hard."

"Hear, hear!" Trickster agreed happily.

Captain Boomerang spoke up, "We're gonna let you go now 'cause we're all in the same community of villains, but if you want to rob Central, you're gonna have to get through us."

"Villains with a code of honor. How novel," Shade commented dryly.

"Wiseass remarks are _not_ appreciated here," Pied Piper advised. "We've been dealing with Flash too long for that."

"Whatever you say." Shade sighed. He got to his feet and dusted off his black coat. "Come on, Copperhead – let's go somewhere else. This is Rogue territory." In a swirl of black shadows, the duo vanished.

"Nicely done, fellas," Mirror Master congratulated, polishing one of his mirrors. "Now let's go back in and finish our drinks."

"And the poems!" Trickster added.

When they returned to their table, they found five mugs filled to the brim with frothy beer, much to their puzzlement.

"Hey, Joey!" Piper called to the bartender who was wiping glasses behind the counter. "We didn't order this!"

"On the house." Joey winked. "Consider it my Christmas gift to you."

"Why?" Captain Cold asked.

"Saw you stop those two outsiders. Least I could do." He gave them a toothy grin. "I bet no other city can claim to have villains who defend their city from other villains."

"What can we say, Joey?" Mirror Master smirked as they retook their seats. "We're one of a kind."

Captain Boomerang raised his beer glass in Joey's direction. "Thanks for the drinks, mate."

"Cheers," Pied Piper said, holding his mug up. The other Rogues clinked their glasses against his, and they all drank heartily.

"Now, Len," said Trickster, licking his lips, "you gotta finish your story."

Collective groans sounded from the table.

"James, nobody wants to hear how Len stole a toy for his kid," said Boomerang.

"I'm not making up a poem for another heist," Captain Cold insisted. "It's that or nothing from me."

"Nothing it is," Mirror Master agreed. "James, I believe it's _your_ turn." All eyes turned expectantly to the Trickster, who smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah…" He scratched his head awkwardly. "Truth is, guys, I don't have a Christmas robbery to tell about. I just wanted to hear your stories."

There was silence for a while. Eyes blinked. Faces took on incredulous expressions. Then the muttered complaints began.

"Trust _you_…"

"Typical James…"

"Making us think up _poems_, for God's sake…"

"Look here, Trickster," Pied Piper said, staring the clownish villain in the eye. "You got us all here on Christmas Eve and made us tell poems of our greatest Christmas crimes. Every one of us has spun something, so you'd better do your part and give us a few lines that rhyme, just for the sake of your participation in a project _you_ came up with."

"Well put," Captain Boomerang murmured.

"Well…" Trickster frowned slightly, thinking hard. Then his face brightened. "Okay, I got one!"

"Let's hear it, then," said Mirror Master.

"It's just one verse," Trickster said nervously.

"Spit it out already, James." Captain Cold rolled his eyes.

"All right, here goes."

_T'was the night before Christmas, and five villain friends_  
_Met to tell stories from beginnings to ends_  
_And defended their city from two crooked men;_  
_And that was the way their Christmas they spent._

* * *

_**A/N: Yes, I really did come up with the new words for the poems. **  
_

_**I may not be able to update tomorrow. I'll try, but if I can't, I will update on Saturday with two chapters.  
**_

_**NEXT TIME: **Game of Chaos** - South America suffers unusual natural disasters at Christmas, and three people have to go on a wild goose chase to stop it.**  
_


	7. Game of Chaos

**_A/N: Yes! I managed to update! Thanks to my reviewers _**_leathman, Dextra2, Powerman911,_**_ and _**_doglover500_**_._**

**_Today's chapter is a whopping 5,000 words - it's the longest chapter in the anthology because of the plot-heavy mystery in it. I hope you enjoy it, because I had to do a lot of research, calculations, and thinking for this._**

* * *

**Game of Chaos**

Living in an invisible tower, Kent Nelson was not used to having people knock on the door. So when someone rapped smartly on the exact spot where the door was, Kent sighed in resignation. Given his history with past Christmases, he knew he was about to get roped into something he might not entirely like.

He closed his eyes again as he heard Inza get the door and turned back to contemplating the wording of one of his spells. He'd been trying to make adjustments to the incantation for months now, but he still hadn't found the right combination to make it work the way he wanted to.

_Language is a funny thing, _he mused to himself.

Inevitably, though, the graceful footsteps approached him. Kent sighed.

"There's no chance this is just a friendly Christmas visit, is there?" he asked without turning around.

Behind him, Diana smiled wryly. "I wish. I can't recall a single Christmas when we weren't plagued by some crisis or other." Her face softened. "Steve used to complain that the gods were trying to keep us apart."

"Considering your Amazon heritage, they very well might have." Kent closed the heavy tome on his lap and placed it on a nearby table. "So what is it this time? Supervillains, crime spree, or unnatural phenomena?"

"Mystical mystery," Diana replied. "Should be right up your alley."

Kent blinked. "Care to explain?"

"Hermes paid me a visit this morning. Apparently Eris has decided to celebrate the Yule festival by creating all kinds of chaos in South America."

"Eris is never a pleasant being to deal with," sighed Kent. "But why do you need my help? You've dealt with her before."

"Unfortunately, I can't find her," Diana admitted. "I've been tracking her all day, but she knows I'm onto her. She's been leaving me all kinds of cryptic clues – she seems to think it's a game."

"With Eris, _everything _is a game." Kent looked thoughtful. "I believe Inza will be able to help us with this."

"Inza? How?"

"Diana, you didn't think I married an ordinary woman, did you? Any normal human woman would have long since divorced me with all the magic I practice – not to mention the invisible home we live in and the fact that we are essentially immortal."

"You said 'human'," Diana noted. "Does that mean Inza is not entirely human?"

"She's half Graxos*," Kent admitted. "And she practices a mystic art of her own – curiously, it complements mine perfectly."

"I've said it before, Kent – your wife is a rare jewel."

"Indeed," Kent agreed. He reached for his helmet and put it on, becoming Doctor Fate. "Inza, love," he called, "we have a mission."

* * *

The ground shook and trembled ferociously under Lima, Peru, causing buildings to wobble dangerously and unleveling whole slabs of pavement. The inhabitants of the city screamed in panic as they scurried desperately out of houses before they were buried alive. The earthquake continued on, ripping land from land and creating gaping chasms in the worst places. Order and calm disappeared, replaced by the stark nightmare of terror and fear, creating an environment of utter chaos. Overhead, unseen by the suffering citizens, three figures flew above the clouds.

Wonder Woman looked grim as she led Doctor Fate and Inza (who was wearing an enchanted amulet that enabled her to fly) through the skies. "This is just one of the things that's been going on. There's been flooding in the Amazon, fires in Paraguay, unnatural cold winds in Argentina…" She sighed. "I wish I could help them, but none of this will stop unless we find Eris."

"That is certainly the priority," Doctor Fate agreed. "What did you want us to see here?"

"This." Wonder Woman landed next to one of the remaining sections of the Lima city wall. Built in the late seventeenth century, most of the structure had been torn down in 1872. This particular portion's crumbling frame and faded color bore witness to its age. Amazingly, there were cracks in the ground all around it from the earthquake that was torturing the foundations of the city, but the wall itself remained untouched and relatively whole. On one side of the wall, someone had graffitied a picture of an antique-looking musical instrument, and in one corner, a tiny golden motif was visible.

Doctor Fate looked closely at the artwork. "That's an English horn."

"What about this?" Inza pointed to the golden symbol.

"That's a golden apple," Wonder Woman replied. "Eris' personal seal."

"It's a curious choice for a seal," Inza noted.

"Eris likes it because it helped her directly instigate one of the greatest cataclysmic events in history," Wonder Woman explained. "She started the Trojan War by tossing a golden apple inscribed with the words, 'For the Fairest One of all' into the wedding feast of Achilles' parents. The goddesses Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite were all in attendance, but Eris had not been invited, and to take revenge, she used the apple to cause jealousy amongst the goddesses as they argued to decide who the apple was for. In the end, Prince Paris awarded the apple to Aphrodite in exchange for Helen of Sparta."

"It's how we knew we were dealing with Eris whenever she decided to cause trouble during the time the Justice Society was active," Doctor Fate added. "Eris has always been quite vain – she enjoys letting people know that the chaos they see is her handiwork; thus, she signs any messages with a golden apple."

"But what does the English horn signify?" Inza wondered.

"No idea," Wonder Woman admitted. "But there are five clues in total, each corresponding to one of the five areas that are being plagued, each by a specific disaster."

"Which five areas, and what disasters?" asked Fate.

"Here in Lima, there are earthquakes; in Maracaibo, Venezuela, incessant hurricanes; severe lightning storms and flash fires in Luque, Paraguay; unprecedented flooding in Santerém, Brazil; and Cordoba, Argentina is suffering from ferocious blizzards."

"Eris is playing maliciously," Fate noted. "With the exception of the lightning storms in Luque and the blizzards in Argentina, she's taken the natural disasters common to each of these areas and amplified them tenfold."

"Kent, there's a small inscription in the apple," Inza told him, pointing out the miniscule plus symbol in the middle of the golden apple sign. Painted a slightly different shade of gold than the rest of the apple, it was only just barely visible to Inza's half-Graxos eyes, but practically unnoticeable to Kent and Diana, until Fate cast a spell of revelation.

"So it is," he agreed. He waved his hand, and a dark brown book with blank pages appeared in midair. With a few motions of his fingers, he had filled one of the pages with the clue from the wall, with the plus sign in clear depiction. "Let's move on."

* * *

In Luque, Paraguay, the frightening streaks of lightning that blazed across the twilit sky lit flash fires sporadically in random locations. Local firefighters struggled to extinguish the blazes while other terrified citizens took shelter in homes, cars, buildings with lightning rods – anything with some form of insulation. The stench of smoke and charred objects filled the air.

Luque's clue was at the airport, on the glass of an observation tower. Again signed with a golden apple in the corner, it depicted three symbols from left to right – a T, a triangle, and a circle with a vertical line dissecting it.

"They're from the Greek alphabet," Diana said. "The letters are tau, delta, and phi."

"Does it stand for anything?" Kent inquired.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Hmm…" He filled another page from his book with the three symbols. "Inza, is there a plus sign on this apple too?"

Inza peered closely at the apple and nodded in confirmation. "Yes."

"Curious," Kent mused, blazing a plus sign on the corner of the page.

* * *

Their next stop was the city of Santerém in the Brazilian state of Pará. Bordered by the Amazon and Tapajós Rivers, it was currently the scene of massive flooding. Normally the two rivers ran parallel to each other in the front of the city without ever meeting, but today their banks had overflowed immeasurably, inundating Santerém with a mixture of the Amazon's milky, sediment-filled water and the cool, clear blue liquid from the Tapajós. Only the tallest structures in the city were not submerged; in some parts, the water was chest-deep. With Santerém being the site of such a meeting of waters, perhaps it wasn't surprising that the city's clue, shimmering by one of the towers of the colonial Church of our Lady of Conception, consisted of a three-dimensional sphere of water.

"Eris has a sense of irony," Inza commented. Kent, meanwhile, reached out a cautious hand to the watery globe and touched the liquid.

"Saltwater," he said, after tasting it. "This must represent the sea."

"What's that?" Diana asked. Kent and Inza turned to see two narrow lines – one green, one red, and both conjoined together all the way – snaking directly across the circumference of the water sphere.

"We will determine the meaning of the clues later," Kent decided, adding the sphere to his book of clues. "Right now, we must concentrate only on finding them."

Inza looked all around, a puzzled frown on her face. "I don't see the apple, though."

Diana backed up a little bit and stared hard at the liquid globe in front of the church tower. "There," she said, pointing Inza to the golden apple pasted on the tower wall, half hidden by the waters of the sphere.

"Another plus sign, then?" said Kent.

"No." Inza's frown deepened as she discerned the symbol on the apple. "It's minus this time."

Kent's helmet hid any emotion on his face, but he scored a horizontal line on his book.

"See what I mean by cryptic?" Diana asked him.

* * *

Venezuela, being a coastal tropical country, was occasionally subject to hurricanes – but never to this extent. Maracaibo, located on the western edge of Lake Maracaibo, was the second-largest city in the nation – and right now, it was just recovering from the third hurricane of the day. Every part of the city was an absolute wreck; electrical power was nonexistent, trees were uprooted, roofs had come off houses, belongings were strewn all over the place. The beleaguered citizens were trying their best to organize some sort of cleanup and rescue efforts, while hoping to God that another freak hurricane was not on its way.

The clue this time was etched onto a tall tree beside a road – the only tree in that particular area that had not been torn from its roots by the hurricanes, despite the fact that all surrounding trees which _had_ been uprooted were all shorter than it.

The shape of the map scraped onto the tree bark was exceedingly familiar to Diana, though she couldn't for the life of her figure out how it related to the situation at hand.

"That's Themyscira," she said at once.

"It's another minus sign," Inza reported after scanning the signature golden apple; by now she knew where to look so it didn't take her long to identify the symbol there. Kent added it to his book and they left for the fifth and final site.

* * *

The final location was also the southernmost, as well as afflicted by the most unnatural disaster. It very rarely snowed in Cordoba, Argentina even in wintertime – thus, the blizzard storming across the city now, during the peak of summer, terrified the locals to such an extent that they were convinced it was the end of the world, and were praying fervently before their deaths to whatever deity they worshipped. Inza frowned.

"This has to stop," she said, her copper face twisting in a scowl of ire directed at Eris.

"My sentiments exactly," Diana agreed.

Kent, meanwhile, had found the final clue displayed all over the pitch of the Estadio Gigante de Alberdi, the stadium that was home to Cordoba's second largest soccer team, Belgrano. Snow from the blizzard had blanketed the entire field in a layer of white, and outlined in the drift patterns in the white slush was the image of a woman with wispy, billowy hair and fine facial features.

"Chione," Diana said in response to Kent's questioning (she assumed it was questioning under his helmet) gaze. "Goddess of ice and snow."

"Appropriate," Inza commented dryly, searching the snowfall for the golden apple. She finally espied it cupped in Chione's hand – not gold this time, but white like the rest of the mural. The plus sign in its middle was drawn in gold, though.

"All right," said Kent. "So we have an English horn from Lima; Tau Delta Phi from Luque; red and green lines circumnavigating a globe of seawater in Santerém; Maracaibo's map of Themyscira; and Chione in Cordoba."

"There are also plus signs from Lima, Luque, and Cordoba and minus signs from Santerém and Maracaibo," Inza added. "I will cast a spell to divine the mystical properties of each of the objects." She settled cross-legged on the roof of the Estadio Gigante de Alberdi, closed her eyes, and started chanting in an ancient language. Each of the clue pictures appeared one by one in glowing light images around her as her spell progressed.

At this point, Kent joined in, adding his strong voice to his wife's light tone. At first the words he cited were different from Inza's, clashing and blending with her incantations to create a unique harmony; but then, as if they were operating on some hidden signal, they both changed languages to recite the same verse of words in English.

_Power of fire, wind, and rain  
Cries of suffering, endless pain  
Echoing through this lonely night  
Open your secrets to our sight_

As the verse ended, they joined hands and watched as the glowing clues rearranged themselves in front of them, their cooperative spell acting on the mystic energies Eris had used to leave the clues. The clue symbols formed a vertical line – the sea globe was at the top, followed by the Tau Delta Phi letters; the English horn and image of Chione pasted themselves onto the map of Themyscira to become the complex bottom glyph.

"Fascinating," Kent observed, studying the arrangement in front of him. "It appears to be a map of some sort. Tau Delta Phi is between the sea and Themyscira."

"Eris would not be allowed on Themyscira," said Diana. "My mother knows her troublemaking tendencies well."

"I don't think Themyscira has anything to do with this," Kent said. "I believe its presence in this group of clues is instead a representation of a general concept. Themyscira is an island; and so, I believe, is whatever landmass the bottom symbol represents. We are looking for an island associated with an English horn and with a wintery climate, as indicated by Chione's image on the map."

Realization dawned on Diana. "And it's south of Tau Delta Phi."

"Yes." Kent was thoughtful. "Now if we can only determine what Tau Delta Phi _is_…"

Inza, meanwhile, was contemplating the red and green lines across the seawater sphere. "Christmas colors?" she suggested to her husband, who shook his head.

"No, Christmas was not celebrated by the Ancient Greeks – and red and green were not traditional colors of the winter festivals they took part in."

"Why a globe, though?" Diana wondered. "Why bother using energy to shape the seawater into a globe when a simple puddle would have sufficed?"

"Clearly, there's some significance to the shape," Kent mused. "Perhaps the globe is meant to represent Earth…"

"And the lines indicate a trip around the world," Inza finished.

Kent snapped his fingers. "Ferdinand Magellan. He's credited as the first person to circumnavigate the globe, and the flag of his country of origin – Portugal – is red and green."

"Magellan traveled across water the entire way," Diana agreed. "But I still don't see –"

"The Strait of Magellan," Kent realized. "It's south of the South American mainland."

"Tau Delta Phi," Inza said knowledgably. "TDF, in English letters – Tierra del Fuego, south of the Strait of Magellan. Which would make the island below…"

"Cape Horn." Kent reached for the English horn on the map of Themyscira. "The English horn was not referring to the instrument, but to the name. Very clever of Eris to do something like this."

"It would be better if she used her intelligence for something other than playing tricks and creating chaos," Diana muttered. "So Eris is at Cape Horn?"

"She must be," Kent replied.

"What about the plus and minus signs?" Inza asked.

"I'm not sure yet where they fit in," Kent admitted. "We'll figure it out on the way. Right now, we should move to Cape Horn before more unfortunate innocents are killed by Eris' game."

* * *

Arriving at Cape Horn, the trio were disappointed to find only the stubby grass landscape of the island in the summer; there was nothing to indicate that Eris was anywhere around.

"This doesn't make sense." Kent sounded confused and slightly frustrated. "The clues led us to Cape Horn – by all rights, she should be here."

Diana, meanwhile, was frowning in concentration, playing with numbers in her head. "I think I've figure out what the plus and minus signs are for," she said.

"Oh?" said Inza.

"They're mathematical symbols, which didn't make sense – until I realized the only numbers that could possibly have any relevance to this game are latitude and longitude coordinates."

"Go on," Kent said.

"We found plus signs at Lima, Luque, and Cordoba. Lima has geographical coordinates of 12.04°S, 77.03°W; Luque, 25.27°S, 57.57°W; and Cordoba, 31.40°S, 64.19°W. Adding those, we get 68.71°S, 198.79°W."

"But latitude and longitude measurements only go as high as 180°," Inza pointed out.

"I know," Diana responded. "There were minus signs at Santerém and Maracaibo, so the coordinates of those cities would be subtracted from the sum of the coordinates of the other three locations."

"Maracaibo is north of the equator," Kent said. "That doesn't fit with the southern latitudes of the other cities."

"The compass points don't matter," Diana explained. "Maracaibo is at 10.65°N, 71.62°W; Santerém is at 2.43°S, 54.72°W. Disregarding the north compass point for now, subtracting those values from our previous figure would give us 55.63° and 72.45°. Now, the picture clues gave us Cape Horn, so 55.63°N and 72.45°W doesn't make much sense – but 55.63°S and 72.45°W does – that's only a few degrees from Cape Horn, which is at 55.98°S, 67.27°W."

"I didn't know you were so good with geographical numbers, Diana."

Diana smiled at Kent's remark. "Steve used to make me memorize the latitude and longitude of important locations, and he taught me how to determine coordinates anywhere on Earth by comparing their distance from known points. When I returned to Themyscira I got Clyte and Pythia to help me perfect the art."

"Steve Trevor was wise beyond his years," Kent observed. He saw Diana's smile turn pensive and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He was a good man, Diana."

"Yes, he was."

Inza waited a few seconds before tactfully steering their focus back onto the mission at hand. "Those coordinates – 55.63°S, 72.45°W – that's the middle of the ocean."

"All the better," Kent said. "This way, if it comes down to a fight between us and Eris, no one will get hurt."

* * *

Diana's coordinates turned out to be perfect. They found Eris in the middle of the ocean, several hundred kilometers west of Cape Horn. Eris herself was waiting for them on a watery throne. The goddess of discord and mischief, her skin was an unearthly, yet beautiful, greyish shade, and her long black hair flowed like silk over the lilac halter-neck dress she wore.

"Bravo," she congratulated them, her amber eyes gleaming as she clapped her hands twice. "You managed to figure out my clues in less than…" She waved an hourglass into being and checked the sand in it. "…four hours – and counting travel time, too. My, my – you _are _good, Diana," she said admiringly.

"It wasn't me," Diana said.

"Oh, yes – your friends helped a lot, I daresay, but still…" Eris smiled languidly. "Well done." Her gaze traveled to Kent. "Hello, Fate." She disappeared from her seat, then reappeared instantly beside Inza. "Ooh, aren't _you_ pretty?"

"Eris, I'll thank you to keep your distance from my wife," Kent warned her coolly.

"Oh, but I was _so_ looking forward to getting to know her," Eris pouted.

"Stop it, Eris," Diana snapped. "We played your game – now stop the chaos you're causing in South America and begone."

"You're a Princess of Themyscira, Diana, not a goddess. You can't tell me what to do."

"I can complain to Hera."

"And spoil the fun?" Eris arched a slender eyebrow.

"What fun? Innocent people are dying, Eris!" Diana exclaimed. "You left your clues lying around and we used them to find you – you are honor bound by the rules of your game to stop the disasters."

Eris heaved a big, theatrical sigh. "Oh, all right. I've had a good time watching the mortals panic, not to mention seeing you scramble around the continent searching for me…" She grinned slyly at Diana. "So, I'll make you a deal. I'll end the game, and the disasters, if you play one riddle with me."

Diana narrowed her eyes. "Fine."

"And Inza has to be the one to answer it."

Inza's expression sharpened into wariness. Kent drew her closer to him and said flatly, "No deal."

"Oh, really, now…"

"I've heard your riddles before, Eris, and I know what you do to those who can't answer them. Inza is not playing."

"She already is," Eris pointed out. "She joined our game the moment she helped you with my clues."

"No," Kent reiterated firmly.

Eris sighed. "Suit yourself." Then she shrugged. "But if Inza doesn't play, then those disasters in South America will continue until I decide I'm bored." Her face turned maliciously mischievous. "And I'm rather enjoying the chaos up there now."

"_I_ will answer your riddle," Kent said.

"No, thank you," Eris declined. "I've played with you before, Fate – I want to spice it up a little. It's either Inza or no one. Choose."

Diana frowned ferociously, but Eris stayed serene as ever. Kent remained expressionless as always beneath his helmet, but his grip around his wife tightened.

"Kent, I'll do it," said Inza. "We don't have a choice."

"Truer words have never been spoken." Eris nodded sagely.

Kent sighed, relenting. "Be wise, Inza." He reluctantly let her go.

"Excellent!" Eris clapped her hands together in glee. "Welcome to the game, Inza."

"What's your riddle, Eris?" Inza asked bluntly.

"Ooh, I like her," Eris commented to Kent. "She's got spirit."

"Eris…" Kent almost growled.

"Tsk. So impatient." Eris shook her head and clucked disapprovingly, but she turned to Inza. "All right, Inza, answer me this:

_"In morning I am white, in evening I am grey  
Sometimes I am June, sometimes I am May  
Other times my name varies as the truth  
But I never answer to Adam's call  
I live with pain or not at all  
I've one heart, but sometimes I've two  
And so therefore, as the point of this game  
Tell me what is my true name."_

Diana scowled at Eris' smug expression, but at the same time she reached out a soothing hand to Kent, who had tensed considerably. Inza's brow furrowed as she bit on her lip, mentally turning Eris' riddle inside out and upside down.

"Take your time, Inza," Eris cooed. "There is no time limit on this game – just remember that the longer you think, the more people suffer in South America." She sounded positively delighted.

A low, rumbling growl came from Kent, while Diana's eyes narrowed to slits. Eris smiled elatedly.

"This is such fun," she commented happily.

"Inza, take your time," Kent advised, pointedly ignoring Eris. "Think carefully."

"Hush," his wife shushed. Her frown deepened; she had closed her eyes to think, so she didn't see Eris' radiant expression. At length, she opened her eyes, revealing her dark chocolate orbs.

"You have the answer?" Eris inquired.

"I do," Inza confirmed.

"Wow, that was fast," the goddess commented. "She's as good as you are, Fate." She turned back to Inza. "All right, tell me your answer."

"I will – but first, you have to promise me something."

Eris arched her eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Give me your word as a goddess that if my answer is correct, you will end the disasters and return to your realm and leave us be."

"Isn't that what the stakes were all along?"

"I want your word, Eris." Inza's eyes were steely.

Eris sighed. "Your husband has taught you well, I see. Fine." Using her right pinky finger to cross an X on her bare left shoulder, she agreed, "You have my word, as a goddess." The bluish X glowed on her skin for a moment before fading. "Now tell me your answer."

Inza stared her squarely in the eye. "A woman."

Diana held her breath. Kent stayed still as a statue. Eris' brows quirked.

"Well done," she acknowledged.

Inza inclined her head. "Now remove the disasters."

"Of course," Eris acquiesced graciously. "Fair is fair. You won my game, so your demands must be fulfilled." She waved an arm in the general direction of the mainland. "Done," she reported. "The mortals can return to the normal order of their lives now." She rose and drifted farther up into the sky, waving daintily at them. "I look forward to playing with you again. Until next time." So saying, she vanished.

Diana let out her breath in relief. Kent pulled Inza close to him and wrapped his arm around her. "Well done, my love."

"If all your adventures with the JSA were this exciting, I wonder how you could ever bear to live as quietly as we have been for the last twenty-five years," Inza said lightly.

Kent merely shrugged. Diana observed his movements with shrewd eyes. "Admit it, Kent – you've missed this some."

"Some," Doctor Fate stressed.

"Do you miss it enough to reconsider my invitation to the League?"

"I'll let you know after Christmas." He waved his arm, sketching a purple ankh portal in the air. "Good night, Diana."

Diana nodded at him. "Goodnight, Kent, Inza."

Once the sorcerer couple stepped through the portal and disappeared, Diana herself took to the skies. Now that Eris had been taken care of, there was someone she needed to visit.

* * *

_**A/N: There's lots to explain about this chapter, so bear with me. First off, Inza in the comics is redheaded, but I'm basing her appearance off her DCAU incarnation - who happens to have pointed ears, so she can't be entirely human. Hence, Diamond Earth Inza has dark hair and copper skin, and is half Graxos (Graxos is a series of planets in the DCU - Green Lantern Arisia Rrab hails from there). **_

_**Secondly, Eris is the Greek goddess of discord and mischief. I have modeled her appearance and personality after the version of her portrayed in the animated movie Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas, even down to her crossing an X on her shoulder as a symbol of her unbreakable promise. So I can't claim credit for that. **_

_**Thirdly, the riddle is of my own making. For those of you who didn't get it, I will explain. The first line, **In morning I am white, in evening I am grey**, refers to the color of a human's hair at the beginning and end of their life. The next line, **Sometimes I am June, sometimes I am May**, refers to two names given to girls, and this thought continues with **Other times my name varies as the truth**, meaning that there are many other names used for women. A woman of course will never answer to Adam's call, because Adam was the original man, and pain is a natural part of a woman's life - in her menstrual cycle, pregnancy, and childbirth. And a woman always has one heart except when she's pregnant, at which time she holds her baby's heart within her body as well.  
**_

_**TOMORROW: **Shadows of the Past**, wherein a young hero struggles to come to terms with his mentor's less-than-ethical approach.**  
_


	8. Shadows of the Past

**_A/N: Thanks to _**_Powerman911, Dextra2,_**_ and _**_leathman_**_ for reviewing last chapter! I'm not quite sure how many people are following this story because my review numbers tend to vary, but I do have a few loyal reviewers, and that's what counts._  
**

**_So, the character in today's chapter should have been obvious from the teaser yesterday. How many young heroes do you know who have issues with their mentor? So without further ado, I give you chapter eight._**

* * *

**Shadows of the Past**

The slim caped figure covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the yawn that tried to escape. Having been active as Batgirl for more than six years, Barbara Gordon was used to running on a daily average of about four to five hours of sleep per night. Being young, her body had adjusted to the new schedule with a minimum of fuss, but even she was caught by the symptoms of sleep deprivation sometimes. When she got back to her dorm, she resolved, she was going to spend Christmas Day sleeping in.

Batgirl leaped, gliding gracefully across the night sky before silently landing on the roof of WayneTech headquarters. It was 3 a.m. on Christmas morning, and Barbara, mere hours after having a celebratory dinner with her father, was on patrol. Like any of the vigilantes protecting this city, she knew Gotham's criminal underworld tended to become unusually ambitious during the holiday season. She'd already seen Huntress (curiously accompanied by Batman's informant from Hub City, the Question) pummeling the life out of a few Rollergang outcasts for pushing their luck, and Batman was on his own beat somewhere in the other parts of the city. Thus, Batgirl was not expecting the stealthy silhouette that suddenly dropped down beside her.

Barbara had skipped ten steps backwards and was wielding a batarang before she recognized the questioning expression on her visitor's masked face.

"For goodness' sake, Dick," she said in exasperation, returning her batarang to her utility belt. "What kind of Christmas present is scaring me half to death?"

"I don't believe it," Nightwing said, looking genuinely surprised. "I actually caught you unaware. What happened to the Batgirl with a sixth sense? You used to rub it in my face all the time, the way I couldn't sneak up on you." He turned contemplative. "Unless you _did_ know I was there but didn't have time to react…"

"Shut up."

Nightwing's eyes widened in amazement. "You seriously didn't notice me coming?"

"Don't start with me, Dick Grayson. Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy kept me up half the night yesterday, and I spent the whole of today with my dad, _and _I ran out of coffee. Excuse me for not seeing a master of stealth creeping up on me."

Nightwing held up his hands in surrender. Batgirl 'hmphed' huffily, not entirely pacified.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I'm spreading goodwill." Nightwing smirked. "Compliments of the season, and all that."

"You're not celebrating with the Titans?"

"I did, earlier. But I felt like seeing some other friends as well."

"Uh-huh." Batgirl was unconvinced. "Does that mean you're stopping by Central City and Star City as well to visit Wally and Roy?"

"Too far," was Nightwing's reply.

Batgirl raised an eyebrow. "And Gotham isn't because…?"

"Same coast," he explained. "150 miles is a short distance, comparatively."

"Right…"

"I'm well within my rights to visit whomever I want to visit whenever I want to visit them," he said defensively.

"Of course you are. So…" She looked at him. "Seen Alfred yet?"

Nightwing looked blank. "What?"

"Come on, it's nigh impossible to visit the Manor and _not _see Alfred, no matter what time it is…"

"I didn't go to the Manor."

Batgirl blinked, startled. "You didn't? I mean, I assumed you were here to –"

"I was going to," Nightwing agreed, "but something…came up."

Batgirl sighed. "Look, Dick, about that incident…"

"Please don't go there, Barbara."

"About that _incident_," Batgirl repeated emphatically, glaring at him, "Bruce did what he thought was right."

Nightwing nodded, his face unreadable. "I know. We've been through this before, Babs."

Had they ever. Batman's decision to sedate the then-Robin into unconsciousness in order to prevent him from doing something rash when Tony Zucco, the man who had killed John and Mary Grayson, had been paroled from prison was something Dick and Barbara had debated many times. It had also been discussed, quite heatedly, between Dick and Bruce, and had ultimately led to the former's decision to move.

"I still don't think you get it," Batgirl insisted. "You know Bruce went through the same thing. Do you know what he did when he finally found his parents' murderer?"

"He didn't kill him." Nightwing sounded bored, like they had gone over this a million times.

"Yes," Batgirl said patiently, "but it was incredibly difficult for him to do that. You have no idea –"

"Yes, _he_ saw to that, didn't he?"

"Dick," she reproved. "He was trying to help. He didn't want you doing something you'd regret."

"He should have let me make my own choice." Nightwing's voice was bitter. "Thanks to him, I'll never know if I would or wouldn't be the kind of person to kill a man out of revenge."

"You're not," Batgirl said at once. "God, Dick, you're _not_."

"Guess we'll never know for sure, huh? Seeing how the only person in the world who would have tested me like that is in a straitjacket at Arkham."

"Dick…"

"He had no right – no right at _all _– to do what he did," Nightwing fumed. "And the stubborn bastard that he is, he didn't have the decency to even _apologize_."

"Bruce wasn't the one who made Zucco what he is now," Batgirl said sharply.

"No, he just scared him so much out of his mind that he had no choice but to descend into madness."

Silence fell. Batgirl gazed at Nightwing reproachfully.

"He was doing it for _you_, Dick," she told him. "Zucco made you an orphan, set you on the path to become Robin – Bruce wasn't going to let you become a murderer on top of it all, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let Zucco escape with a slap on the wrist, either. That's why he threatened him the way he did."

"Yeah, well, it would've been a whole lot more meaningful if he hadn't _knocked me out with anesthetic gas_." Despite the fact that he'd told Barbara that Bruce had made the right choice for himself, it had never been fair to Dick and it was a wound that had festered since he left Gotham.

"Enough with the pity party, all right?" snapped Batgirl. "Bruce only knocked you out because he wasn't sure you'd be able to stop yourself from making a mistake. He was afraid you'd kill Zucco if you went after him."

"He should have trusted me," Nightwing insisted.

"Yes," Batgirl agreed unexpectedly. "He should have. And _you _should have understood why he did it, and given him a chance to apologize _before _you packed up and moved away."

"I _did _give him a chance to apologize!" Nightwing exclaimed. "He just never took it! He never apologizes for anything, even when he's wrong – especially not to me or you. In all the years I lived with him, I never once heard him say he was sorry."

"You of all people should know apologizing doesn't come easy to Bruce," she retorted. "He might not _say_ it, but he shows it in other ways."

"Not that time."

"Did you bother to give him the chance?" she challenged. "Did you even consider granting him the benefit of the doubt?"

Nightwing exhaled wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn't come here to fight."

"I know." Batgirl calmed down somewhat. "He misses you, you know."

"I heard he's working with a new Robin."

"Jason Todd," she confirmed. "We caught him trying to steal the tires off the Batmobile in July."

Nightwing laughed. "I'll bet Bruce loved that."

"I think he took Jason in because he reminded him of you."

Nightwing made a sound that may have been assent or polite disbelief. Batgirl resolved to imagine it was the former.

"Look, it was _three years _ago," she said. "You came to Gotham tonight for a reason. Maybe it's time to make your peace. Aside from the Parallax crisis, I bet you haven't talked to Bruce at all since you left."

"I have so," Nightwing countered. "He popped up on Titans Island after our trip to Tamaran in September."

"I know, but you haven't really _talked_. You used to communicate better than polite one-liners and careful comments. You haven't been able to forget what he did."

"Babs, in all honesty, I don't think I ever will."

"Then you can accept it, repair your relationship, and move on." Batgirl crossed her arms. "You and I both know that unless Bruce mellows out – a lot – he won't make the first move. If you want things to go back to normal between you, you have to be the one to act first."

"I know, I know." Nightwing sighed. "I can't tonight, though. I need a little more time," he added, cutting off Batgirl's beginning protest. "I promise I'll think about what you said…but when I came tonight, I thought I was ready to bury the hatchet – and it turns out I'm not, not yet. I can't do it if I'm not sincere about it, Babs."

She sighed too. "Okay," she agreed. "Just give me a call, you know, when you do."

"You'll be the first to know," he promised. He straightened. "Happy holidays, Babs."

"You too."

Nightwing made his exit then, leaving Batgirl on the roof as he disappeared down a dark alley, mulling over her words. After their conversation, he was starting to see things from a different perspective. He'd spent so long resenting Bruce for what he did…but tonight he'd finally begun to understand what made him do it.

Tonight, he couldn't – but maybe next year, he would take that step, and he would mend that the bridge with Bruce. And perhaps, next Christmas, he really would visit Wayne Manor.

* * *

_**A/N: I don't know what caused the split between Batman and Nightwing in the comics, so I made up a reason. In the unlikely event that it coincidentally is similar to what I described, all the better for Diamond Earth. **_

_**TOMORROW: Two Teen Titans are on a mission, while another vanishes and a fourth falls in love with Charles Dickens, all in **Comparison and Contrast**.  
**_


	9. Comparison and Contrast

**_A/N: Thank you to _**_Dextra2, __leathman,_**_ and _**_doglover500_**_ for reviewing._  
**

**_Now, here's a long chapter full of a whole load of Teen Titan goodness ;) This is what life is like in Jump City at Christmas.  
_**

* * *

**Comparison and Contrast**

"Vic! Get the door!"

The chime of the doorbell, as well as the computerized voice announcing that there were visitors outside Titans Tower, went unheeded as Victor Stone stared at the letter in his hand. Never in a million years would he have ever anticipated this…

"Vic!" An irate Garfield poked his head into the living room. "I said get the – huh?" He stared at the area; it was completely devoid of any human – or half-human – presence. Maybe Cyborg had already gone to answer the door?

The bell rang again. Garfield scowled.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Vic!" he complained to the thin air that substituted for his absentee teammate. Holding a wooden, batter-coated mixing spoon in one hand, Gar stalked to the door and keyed in the code to open it, muttering under his breath. "I said get the door, and what does he do? He freaking goes Houdini on me!"

"Trouble?" Wonder Woman asked with a smile as the doors slid open for her.

"Oh, um, hi, Wonder Woman…"

"Diana," she corrected, stepping inside.

"Okay…Diana…" Gar was at a loss for words. "Uh…you didn't happen to see Cyborg pass by, did you?"

Diana shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"Weird…" He cleared his head. "Well, make yourself at home. Donna's in the kitchen making cookies with Kory – I'll get her for you."

"What kind of cookies?" Diana asked curiously.

"Chocolate chip," Gar replied. He sniffed the air experimentally. "And I gotta go make sure Kory doesn't accidentally poison them, so excuse me." He beat a hasty retreat, hoping that rank scent in the air wasn't what he thought it was.

* * *

"Agh, no!" Donna exclaimed, grabbing the bottle of mustard from Kory's hand before she could add it in, and thereby permanently ruin, the cookie mixture. Sighing, she explained, "You can't put mustard in cookies, Kory."

"But I _like _mustard," Kory protested, her green eyes wide and innocent.

"Yes, but most people don't like mustard in their cookies," Donna said patiently. "Cookies are sweet, and mustard is savory – they just don't go."

"Oh."

"I smell burning," Gar announced, appearing in the kitchen.

Kory looked dismayed. "Oh, no!" she cried, rushing to the oven to withdraw a tray of severely burnt cookies. Donna palmed her forehead.

"Sorry, Gar, I was trying to keep mustard out of the batter, and I wasn't paying attention to the oven."

"I completely understand," Gar assured her. After living with Kory for a year, he'd come to realize just how well-founded Dick's fear of her cooking was. Whenever the Tamaranean princess was in the kitchen, someone had to be there with her to make sure any food she cooked up did not end up poisonous for human consumption – a job easier said than done, as Kory was constantly trying new combinations that, more often than not, ended in disaster – because they would inevitably be the ones who had to 'taste' it.

Gar spent a few seconds watching Kory stare speculatively at the botched cookies before telling Donna, "Your sister's in the living room."

"Diana?" Donna looked puzzled. "What's she doing here?"

"Why don't you go find out? I'll, um – ahem…" He leaned closer to her and whispered, "I'll make sure we don't burn the Tower down."

"Watch out for the mustard," Donna cautioned. "She's been trying to sneak it into every bowl of batter we've made so far."

"Noted."

"Well," Kory said sheepishly as she scraped the charred dough off the tray and emptied it into the trashcan, where several other failed batches had already been dumped, "at least none of them was slimy this time."

Gar repressed a groan.

* * *

"Hi, Diana," Donna greeted as she came into the living room. "What brings you to the Tower?"

"Well, it's your first time celebrating Christmas, so I thought I'd take you out to see the sights," Diana replied. "Man's World is beautiful this time of year."

"Sure, that'd be great!" Donna agreed. "Let me get changed, and we can go."

* * *

"Kory! No!"

Kory paused midway in tipping the bottle of mustard over the remaining half-bowl of batter they had. "I just want to try how it tastes," she said pleadingly. "Mustard is such a glorious condiment; it must add something good to cookies too."

Gar sighed. Looking down at the twenty or so cookies he'd managed to shape (been distracted by, more like) before Kory had completely ruined the rest of the batter, he gave up. "Fine," he muttered. "But _you_'re eating all the mustard cookies."

"Fair enough," Kory agreed, happily stirring the mustard in and beginning to shape mustard-flavored chocolate chip cookies on a separate tray.

"Hey, Gar, I'm going out with Diana," Donna informed him from the doorway of the kitchen. She had changed out of what she was wearing into a plain white dress and a winter coat and was pulling on a pair of warm woolen gloves as she spoke.

"Okay." Gar gestured at the cookies Kory was in the process of arranging on the tray. "FYI, don't eat any of the yellow-looking cookies. Kory managed to slip the mustard in while I was shaping the batter."

"How many did you manage to save?"

"Assuming they all make it out of the oven in an edible state, we have exactly twenty-two normal chocolate chip cookies to eat for Christmas."

Donna giggled.

"It isn't funny!" Gar exclaimed. "We must've junked at least fifty because they were deformed in some way or other!"

"Okay, Gar – let's make a deal." Donna lowered her voice. "Next time we make cookies, we ban Kory from the kitchen."

"Done," he agreed. "By the way, have you seen Raven? She _was _supposed to help with the cookies – I bet we'd have more successes if she'd been here to keep an eye on Kory."

"She's in her room, reading."

"Again?" Gar looked exasperated. "But it's Christmas! She should be down here having fun with the rest of us."

Donna shrugged. "She's Raven," she said, as if it explained everything. "I'll see you later. Bye, Kory," she called.

"Goodbye," Kory returned. "Enjoy yourself."

Donna left, and Gar turned back to Kory, shuddering at the sight of nineteen mustard chocolate cookies lined up on a tray ready to go in the oven. Then he remembered Raven and her isolationist tendencies that kept her away from the festivities even at Christmas, and a plan began to form in his head.

"Hey, Kory – are you up for a special mission?"

* * *

Raven looked up from her book as she heard a knock on her door.

"Knock, knock," Garfield's cheerful voice called.

"What do you want?"

"No, no – you're supposed to say 'who's there?', and then _I _say –"

"Garfield," Raven intoned. "I don't do 'knock, knock' jokes."

"You don't? Well, okay – how about animal jokes, then? I can even act as the animals for you if you open the door."

Raven sighed and counted to ten in her head. _He's just being friendly, _she reminded herself.

"No thank you, Gar – I'm fine."

"But it's Christmas," he protested. "At least let Kory and me keep you company."

"Garfield."

"Okay, okay…" There was some grumbling on his part, but it eventually faded as he moved away from her door.

Raven turned back to her book. Gar got on her nerves sometimes, but she genuinely liked him, as she did all her teammates – though it would be nice if he left her alone occasionally.

* * *

"Now what?" Kory asked.

"I'm thinking." Gar's brow was furrowed until a new idea hit him. "Okay, I have Plan B."

"What's Plan B?"

"Come on – I'll explain on the way," he responded, pulling her along with him as he bounded down the hallway.

"And what if Plan B doesn't work?" Kory wanted to know.

"Then we'll come up with something else."

"And if _that _doesn't work?"

"We'll keep trying till we succeed," he said determinedly. "One way or another, we're going to make Raven laugh on Christmas."

* * *

Donna closed her eyes in pleasure at the burst of sensation on her tongue. "This is delicious," she said, holding up the frosted gingerbread ice-cream cake she was eating. Diana smiled.

"I thought you might like it."

"Man's World is full of so many amazing things," Donna observed. "I've been here three months, and I still find new ways to appreciate it." She took another bite of her cake, chewed, swallowed, then spoke again. "Cyborg and Beast Boy explained Christmas to me. Apparently it is an occasion to celebrate the birth of a certain deity?"

Diana nodded. "Yes. It is similar in concept to the feasts we hold on Themyscira to honor the goddesses, but the actual meaning behind this celebration is far more complex."

"Humans themselves are complex."

"And yet, that is precisely what makes them so wonderful," Diana said. "There are many aspects to them, Donna – they can be fiercely protective and intensely loyal, full of love and compassion or consumed with rage and determination."

"They are much like Amazons," Donna remarked.

"Yes," her sister agreed. "But they walk a much finer line than we do."

"What do you mean?"

"Humans are like Amazons in many ways, but one of the key differences between us is that they have the capacity for bending or even breaking rules in their compassion and desire to show mercy."

Donna cocked her head. "I don't understand."

"Here's an example," said Diana. "On Themyscira, our laws our absolute. Anyone who breaks them must be punished immediately, with no exception. Even we are not safe from retribution if we disobey."

Donna frowned. "But Mother…"

"…would have no choice, Donna." Diana gazed at her sister. "If either one of us were to break a law of Themyscira, Mother herself would be duty bound to punish us accordingly, no matter her love for us. The people of Man's World, however, have shown that they can and will defer punishment in such a case – they would willingly disregard their own laws if they deem that they should. In that way, they are stronger than Amazons."

"How can that be?" Donna wondered. "If they are not strong enough to obey their own laws…"

"Sometimes, Donna, it takes more strength to chart a different course than to uphold what must be upheld."

* * *

"Unbelievable." Garfield shook his head as he and Kory walked to the living room. After much coaxing, persuasion, and promises, the two of them had finally convinced Raven to let them in her room. Once there, they had wasted no time telling her the funniest stories they remembered and showing her the most hilarious pictures and videos they'd dug up. All to no avail – the empath still hadn't so much as smiled, though Gar and Kory had been laughing fit to burst.

"There must be _something_ we can do to make Raven laugh," said Kory.

"I wonder…" Gar's expression was thoughtful. _Do I dare? Am I suicidal enough?_

"Garfield?" Kory's voice inquired. "What is it?"

"D'you think Raven's ticklish?"

Kory's eyes widened as she understood what the changeling was saying. "X'hal – would you truly dare?"

"Time to find out," Gar quipped, running back to Raven's room. Morphing into an ant, he crept through the tiny slit under the door.

Kory waited for all of a minute before Gar came bursting out of the room, running as if all the demons of hell were hot on his heels. Raven followed soon after. She did not raise her voice, but her tone was still deadly.

"I said I don't…like…being…tickled!"

* * *

Diana stopped by the ticket counter and purchased two tickets for the play that was showing in the city theater.

"_A Christmas Carol_?" Donna questioned, examining the colorful slip of paper.

"It's one of my favorite stories," Diana confided. "It teaches a very valuable lesson as well, and when acted out well it is a joy to watch. I think you would enjoy it."

Donna shrugged. "Okay, then." She hooked her arm through her sister's. "Let's go see how this" – she glanced at her ticket – "'Scrooge' experiences Christmas."

* * *

Raven chased Gar halfway around the Tower before he forced a stalemate by moving to the opposite side of a coffee table in the fifth floor lounge. Every time Raven tried to move to get to him, he moved an equal distance in the opposite direction, so they were always facing each other with some sort of distance between them.

"I hope you're happy," Raven retorted. "You've made me spend half an hour on this ridiculous goose chase."

"Geez, Rae – don't you ever laugh at all?"

"No."

"But you smile," Kory pointed out, appearing around the corner. "You don't do it often, but you _do _smile."

"Smiling and laughing are two different things."

"You need to laugh, Rae," Gar said. "Seriously. It's Christmas, for Pete's sake."

Raven raised an eyebrow. "We celebrated yesterday." She darted to one side; Gar was quick to counter by moving equally quickly to the other side.

"And you've been in your room since," he pointed out. "You were supposed to help us make cookies this afternoon."

"You managed fine without me."

"We have _twenty-two _cookies," he shot at her. "_Twenty-two_, because Kory snuck mustard into the other half of the only edible batter we made. Then she added all kinds of other stuff in it as well. It's a wonder the kitchen is still in one piece after her cookies exploded in the oven."

Raven's lip twitched. Gar noticed.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, pointing. "You wanted to laugh at that!"

"No, I didn't."

"You so did! Don't try to deny it, I saw it! You wanted to laugh! Didn't she, Kory?"

"I saw it too," Kory affirmed.

"Wait a minute…" Gar stared accusingly at Raven. "Your lip was twitching the whole time we were showing you the funnies in your room, too! You _wanted _to laugh then as well – you just didn't let yourself!"

"Nonsense," Raven said – but her reply was a little too quick.

"Gar is right," Kory agreed. "Thinking back, you did look entertained, but you would barely smile. Raven, why do you not let yourself laugh?"

Raven narrowed her eyes, then sighed and sat down on a couch, much to Gar and Kory's surprise. "I can't laugh," she admitted finally.

"What?" Gar exclaimed.

"Oh, how horrible!" cried Kory.

"No, it's not like _that_," Raven said, annoyed. "I don't mean I'm incapable of laughing – I just…can't."

"You mean you can't allow yourself to laugh," Gar realized.

Raven nodded. "Exactly."

Gar and Kory exchanged looks. "But why not?"

"It's a long story."

* * *

"Amazing," Donna breathed, clapping earnestly with the other patrons in the theater as the actors took their final bow. "What a beautifully touching tale," she commented to Diana.

"I knew you'd like it." Diana smiled, knowing she'd just made a lifelong Charles Dickens fan out of her sister.

"Humans have a better grasp of the concepts of life than we Amazons give them credit for," Donna noted. She looked at her sister. "Why does Mother dislike Man's World so much?"

Diana sighed. She should have known this topic would come up. "Donna, Man's World is a beautiful and wonderful place," she began. "Unfortunately, there are other extremes present here as well – it is also a place where hatred and greed roam unchecked, where morals have fallen so far that no one gives them a second thought, where dark and terrible things happen. Man's World, unlike Themyscira, is both light and dark, brightness and shadow, good and evil. Everything – the good _and _the bad – coexists here. Mother doesn't like that. She understands that incredible goodness can be found in Man's World, but she also knows that it can also spawn the darkest evil – and that is what she wishes to protect Themyscira from."

"Strange that the same place can have two such opposite extremes," Donna remarked.

"I know. But that's what we're here for, Donna – to help reduce the evil and bring out the good in Man's World. Seasons such as Christmas are our allies in our quest."

Donna was thoughtful. "What's our quest?"

"To make this world a better place," Diana answered. "Much as we would sometimes like to forget, Themyscira was once a part of Man's World too – and it still is."

* * *

"So…because your powers are controlled by your emotions, any extreme feelings you have could be channeled into your powers, and things could blow up?"

"More or less," Raven agreed. She exhaled. She had hoped she would never need to bring this up – but she should have known better. The necessity of keeping her emotions under control was something she had accepted on Azarath, and now her friends would have to learn to live with it too.

Gar looked stricken. "And that means we've been tempting you a _lot _with everything we've pulled today. Gosh, Raven, I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I never realized…"

"Nor did I," Kory said. "Raven, please accept our sincere apologies for making things difficult for you."

Raven waved their guilty remorse aside. "It's all right," she assured them. "I'm used to it now – it's something that'll always be part of me."

"But to think that you cannot truly experience emotion like we do…" Kory began.

"I can," Raven corrected. "I just can't allow it to manifest in my powers by showing what I feel. It's the nature I was born with, and I've accepted it. I hope you can, too."

"'Course we can, Rae," said Gar at once. "That's what friends do."

Raven smiled. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "By the way," she added, "your so-called 'mission' wasn't a total loss – you two certainly kept me thoroughly entertained, and I was laughing on the inside all the way."

"Truly?" Kory asked, at the same time Gar said incredulously, "You _were_?"

Raven nodded. "Yes, I was."

Gar looked amazed for a moment. Then he said, "Well, now that I know that you _can _appreciate a good joke, how about we go watch _Ghostbusters _and eat our homemade cookies?"

* * *

"I had a great time tonight, Diana," Donna said warmly as she hugged her sister. "Thanks for taking me out to celebrate my first Christmas."

"You're welcome," Diana said. "What are sisters for?"

Donna smiled and went in, hanging her coat on a hook. She heard laughter coming from the living room and found Kory, Gar, and Raven all sitting there, munching chocolate chip cookies (exploded bits of mustard-chocolate, in Kory's case) and watching a movie which seemed to involve supernatural spirits of some kind. Gar seemed to find it absolutely hilarious, and judging by Kory's face, so did she.

"What are we watching?" Donna inquired, stealing a cookie from Gar's plate.

"_Ghostbusters_." Raven sipped at her cup of tea."Did you have a nice time out?"

"Very," Donna replied.

_"Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!" _Onscreen, the famous song started to play as the closing credits rolled across the TV.

"Well, that's the end of the movie," said Gar. "But we could always watch it again, if you wanted to join us," he offered to Donna. "The twenty-two cookies we got turned out to be much bigger than expected, so we still have a few left to munch on while watching. And we always have popcorn."

"Aren't you going to leave some cookies for Dick and Vic when they get back?" Donna scolded playfully.

"Nah. It's their loss for going off to do other things when they could have been here watching a classic with us on Christmas Day. Besides, _we_'re the ones who did all the work for these cookies. We've _earned _the right to eat them all up."

"I suppose," Donna mused, casually taking another cookie. "But can we watch a different movie?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Donna smiled, thinking of the mysteries of Man's World and the spirit of Christmas. "Do you have _A Christmas Carol_?"

* * *

_**A/N: I'm still experimenting with some of the Titan characters in Diamond Earth - I grew up and fell in love with the Titans' cartoon incarnations, but their comic versions are more mature and complex, and I'm trying to incorporate a blend of both personalities in Diamond Earth.**_

_**TOMORROW: We find out what that mysterious letter is and where Cyborg disappeared to, in **Reconciliation**.  
**_


	10. Reconciliation

**_A/N: Thanks a bunch to _**_Dextra2, doglover500, Powerman911,_**_ and _**_leathman_**_ for reviewing! Especially those last two for giving me some additional info and constructive critique as well!_  
**

* * *

**Reconciliation**

It was 2 p.m. Pacific Time by the time Vic Stone stepped out of the bus. The sun was still bright in the sky here, but the early twilight of winter would soon be descending. Vic was glad for the cold of the season – in the wintertime, his long-sleeved hoodie, dark sunglasses, and bulky gloves wouldn't look so out of place.

In his time with the Teen Titans, and with much encouragement from his teammates, Vic had gradually learned to accept himself as he was – a unique blend of human flesh and cybernetic technology that gave him the ability to be a hero. That didn't mean he wasn't still self-conscious of how abnormal he looked, though – he didn't know how Gar was so unconcerned about the thoughts his green skin would inspire whenever he went out. When he wasn't doing hero work, Vic very much preferred the cover of a hoodie to hide who he was.

Here, in San Francisco, anonymity was even more important.

Vic made his way past the milling people out enjoying their Christmas Day. In direct contrast to the happy, relaxed mood of the citizens, his own thoughts were confused and glum.

The letter that had brought him here was tucked in the pocket of his jeans. Vic stopped at a corner and took it out, smoothing out the crumpled paper to better read the small, official print.

_Season's Greetings from the Stone Foundation._

According to what he'd found online, the Stone Foundation was a charity for people – especially children – who needed prosthetic limbs. The Stone Foundation aided them by collecting funds for the parts they needed, providing emotional support to them, and helping them adjust to living with mechanical parts. Vic had never before heard of such an organization, and after seeing 'Silas Stone' among the names listed at the bottom of the letter, he was certain his father was the one who'd started it. No doubt Silas had sent the letter to Titans Tower hoping to convince his son to come home.

Vic sighed as he crushed the letter back into his pocket. He'd been fifteen when he ran away from home – fifteen when his mother died, and so much of his body was injured that those areas had had to be replaced by his father's experimental prosthetics. He was twenty now, almost twenty-one – and this was the first time he'd been contacted by his father in any way. Vic knew it was only his membership in the Titans and the fact that he had a permanent home now that had made that possible; before, Silas Stone would have had no way of knowing where his son was, let alone how to contact him.

Vic stared out at the San Francisco skyline; it hadn't changed much in the five years he'd been gone. _What am I doing here?_ he wondered. Nightwing had left for Gotham yesterday to mend things with Batman, and it seemed Vic was being given the chance to do the same with his father.

_Well, it's Christmas, _he reasoned, tracing the familiar path to his old house. There had been no return address on the letter, so he knew Silas hadn't moved. His father clearly wanted to talk to him, and he couldn't do that if Vic couldn't find him.

San Francisco might not have changed, but the Stone house certainly had. It was repainted, sparkly clean, and homier than before – and Vic couldn't remember the last time they'd strung Christmas lights over the doorway – his father had always been too absorbed in his experiments for that. Beneath the twinkling colors of the lights, a new sign on the door proudly read, _Part of the Stone Foundation_.

Silas was obviously trying to atone for his sins, Vic noted wryly.

He should have walked up to the door and rung the bell then, but he simply stood where he was, across the street, staring at his childhood home. Every time he tried to take a step forward, he remembered the absent attitude of both his parents as they carried out all sorts of experiments in their basement, all but forgetting about their son. Each time he willed himself to walk to the house, flashes of that fateful day illuminated his mind, and he was reminded of how betrayed he'd felt when he found out what his father had done to keep him alive. And Vic Stone realized that he wouldn't – couldn't – see his father today.

Grunting wordlessly in frustration, he stomped off, leaving the road behind.

* * *

Bobby Knight* was a simple, ordinary kid, who enjoyed the simple, ordinary things in life. He liked model airplanes, his mom's home cooked dinners, and irritating his older sister. He also, like other boys his age, loved playing ball in the park. And two years ago, he had very nearly had to stop doing it.

"Bobby, go long!"

Bobby ran to the other edge of the park and caught the ball, then threw it back to the designated baseball diamond for one of the other catchers to pick up. "Get him, Will!" he yelled.

As he stepped forward to return to the game, Bobby's left foot caught in the underbrush and he bent down to untangle it. In the process, he pulled up his pant leg, exposing the shiny metal of his prosthetic limb. Bobby frowned as he jiggled his foot, unhappy when he saw that the grass had caught in the crevice where two pieces of the prosthetic met.

"Need some help?"

Bobby looked up and saw a tall young man wearing a dark blue hoodie approaching him. His face was completely hidden by the hood, but his voice was kind.

Bobby's parents had, of course, taught their son not to talk to random strangers – but Bobby's instincts were telling him that this person was not to be feared. So he said, "Sure."

The man in the hoodie reached down and expertly untwined the grass from Bobby's prosthetic.

"Thanks, Mister," Bobby said gratefully. He patted his mechanical limb. "This leg is great, but I'm still working out the kinks."

Hoodie Guy nodded. "If you don't mind me asking…what happened?"

"My dad accidentally knocked into me while he was driving and crushed my leg," Bobby replied. He didn't sound the least bit reluctant to explain his misfortune – and there was not a hint of embarrassment, anger, or sorrow in his tone. "The doctors told us my leg was too damaged to save, and I'd need a prosthetic. Only, we couldn't afford it, so I figured I'd have to live without a leg. But then we heard of the Stone Foundation, and my dad asked them to help."

"Did they?"

"Yeah," Bobby responded with a smile. "They were really great – they started a collection immediately and told my story to lots of people, and they helped us get enough money to buy my new leg." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the baseball diamond. "They're the reason I can still play ball. Dad says he thanks God every night for them."

Hoodie Guy appeared to be thinking deeply. "And you're not angry at your dad?"

"No." Bobby looked confused. "Why should I be?"

"Well, his mistake cost you your leg."

"Well, yeah," Bobby agreed, "but it was an accident. He didn't mean to do it. I forgave him a long time ago."

Hoodie Guy raised an eyebrow. "It was that easy?"

"'Course it was. He's my dad, and he was really sorry about the whole thing. He did everything he could to get me a new leg – he even went to all the rallies the Stone Foundation held and explained how it was his fault I needed a leg, and how he was so very sorry. How could I not forgive him?"

Hoodie Guy sounded doubtful as he said, "It was a _big _mistake."

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe. But the great thing about family is they forgive you for even the biggest mistakes."

"Hey, Bobby!" Will shouted. "You playing or not?"

"Coming!" Bobby yelled back. "I gotta go, Mister. Thanks for your help." He waved as he jogged back to the playing field, not even giving a second thought to his conversation with the guy in the hoodie.

* * *

Vic found himself back in front of his house. The boy in the park had sounded so sure, so confident – he wasn't the least bit bitter about what had happened to him, and he obviously still loved his dad dearly. Thinking over their brief conversation, Vic was amazed at the generous heart that little boy had. He had forgiven his father for the loss of his leg, even though it was directly his fault.

_I could learn from him._

Bobby was still able to play ball because he had a prosthetic leg that the Stone Foundation had enabled his family to afford – because his father had done everything he could to make up for his mistake. Vic was only alive because Silas had replaced his damaged body parts with prosthetics – moreover, his cyborg body was what enabled him to be a Teen Titan, a hero.

If a ten-year-old boy could forgive his father so absolutely for something so tragic, who was Vic to deny his own father the same gift?

His mind made up, Vic squared his shoulders and rang the doorbell. Then he pulled off his hood and waited.

It wasn't long before Silas Stone answered the door. His expression was one of pure shock when he saw his son standing outside. "Vic?" he breathed.

"Hi, Dad." With some effort, Vic managed a genuine smile for the man he'd thought he would hate forever.

"You…you came." Silas sounded stunned.

Vic nodded. "Yeah."

The pause after that stretched on until Silas broke it. "I'm so, so sorry, Vic," he apologized earnestly. "I didn't…I never wanted to…if I could take it all back, I would," he swore.

"I wouldn't." Vic surprised himself with his own answer. At Silas' look of amazement, he elaborated, "If you didn't do it, I wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have five amazing friends and I wouldn't be helping people the way I am now." He smiled again, more easily this time. "It took me a while to realize it, but I'm glad you did it."

Silas was wordless for a moment. "Then you…you forgive me?" he asked hesitantly.

Vic paused, contemplative.

"Yes," he said finally. "I forgive you."

Tears spilled over Silas' face as he pulled his son into a tight hug full of five years' worth of emotions. "Thank you, Vic. I…you don't know what a gift this is."

_Maybe I do, _Vic thought to himself. He hugged his father back and said, "Merry Christmas, Dad."

The past was the past, and it was only the future that mattered – the future that was full of wonderful adventures, endless possibilities, and unexpected gifts. And if there was one thing that Vic Stone had learned today, it was that forgiveness was the greatest gift one could give.

To his dying day, he would both curse and bless that dimensional portal that had let in the creature that made him what he was – but he would never again blame his father for it.

* * *

_**A/N: ***_**_No, this is not Diamond Earth's version of baseball coach Bob Knight – just a nod to his greatness in the game._**_  
_

**_TOMORROW: _**_The Other Side of the Coin_**_ shows that there's always two sides to every situation.  
_**


	11. The Other Side of the Coin

**_A/N: Thanks again to _**_Dextra2, Powerman911, doglover500,_**_ and _**_leathman_**_ for reviewing!_  
**

**_And...yep, you guessed it - today it's Two-Face's turn to celebrate Christmas._**

* * *

**The Other Side of the Coin**

The double-headed coin, one side bright and shiny and the other scarred and scratched, rose into the air, twirling in a whirl of silver before landing on the open palm.

"Hm." The dual-personality villain known as Two-Face needed only a quick glance to see that the coin had landed with its scarred side face-up. He turned to his captive, a blonde woman in her early thirties who was backed up against the alley wall. "The coin has spoken," he told her, ignoring her whimpers as he raised his gun to shoot.

A hard object knocked the gun out of his hand, and Two-Face whipped around to see the batarang return to Batman's waiting hand.

"Not tonight, Two-Face."

The villain reached for his other gun, an identical twin to the one he'd just dropped. "Not even you can fight against fate, Batman. The coin dictated that this woman should die, so I will kill her."

"Not tonight," Batman repeated. He lunged at Two-Face before the latter had a chance to pull the trigger, and the two tussled their way farther down the alley while the terrified woman made her escape.

* * *

"You know, Batman," said Two-Face as they stared at each other from opposite sides of the table in the shop basement, "I used to look up to you." He casually twirled his gun around his right finger. "I used to think you were doing this city a favor. I wanted to work with you, _be _like you. I respected you. I admired you." The gun's movement ceased. "Until I realized that no one can be a truly fair judge. No matter what, there will always be injustice and inequality. The only perfect judgment is by pure chance."

Batman remained silent. Their wrestling match had reached a stalemate a few minutes ago, and he knew better than to provoke Two-Face's unpredictable mind.

"Once I learned that," Two-Face went on, "I decided that I would be fair too. I vowed I would always abide by what fate told me to do, regardless of my own personal feelings."

Looking at him now, the left side of his face disfigured beyond recognition, it was hard to believe that Two-Face was once charming, handsome, heroic district attorney Harvey Dent.

"I told myself I would become an instrument of fate – a vessel of perfect judgment."

The same Harvey Dent who had been so relentless, so determined, to hunt down every criminal in Gotham and put them where they belonged. The same Harvey Dent who'd willingly formed a triumvirate alliance with Batman and Commissioner Gordon – three people united by their mutual objective to clean up Gotham City.

"Judge, jury, and executioner, all in perfect impartiality – exactly what this city needs."

Harvey had had a fiancée, friends, colleagues who respected him. He'd had a life.

"You see, Batman, in randomness, there is order. That's why I consult the coin."

A single mistake, a splash of acid, and it was all gone. Harvey Dent became Two-Face, his mind and the left side of his face so damaged that he fractured into two distinct personalities.

"It doesn't have to be right, it doesn't have to be wrong – it doesn't even have to make sense. So long as it's what fate dictates, it must be done."

Two personalities, one mind. Not enough room for both. When the goodness of Harvey Dent clashed with the evil of Two-Face, the coin was used to break the deadlock.

"That's why this so-called Christmas season is a farce. People buying gifts and making merry, reaching out to 'spread goodwill' – it's not real. None of it is real, and tomorrow they'll all go back to being lying, cheating, murdering bastards. Fate is not involved at all, so it cannot be true. Only chance is real, Batman – it is the only truth we can hold to."

The coin could just as easily kill somebody as save them, inspire a miracle as soon as it caused calamity. A true exercise in random chance.

"Let's take you as an example. I hate you. It's a simple fact. But if I flip this coin now and it comes up clean, I'll let you live. Isn't that the better way to do things?"

Batman hated dealing with Two-Face because he could never forget that Harvey Dent was still in there somewhere.

"So…" Two-Face pointed his gun at Batman. "Let's see what the coin says." With his other hand, he held up the two-headed coin. "Clean side, you live. Scarred side, you die."

There was a tinny _clink _as he flicked the coin upwards. Batman watched it rise, then fall, and land…scarred face up.

"Well." Two-Face shrugged. "This is where we say goodbye." He cocked his gun.

"Wait."

Two-Face paused. "I suppose I can give you a moment for your last words," he conceded.

"Flip it again."

"Trying to fight fate, Batman? It won't work."

"Who's fighting?" Batman retorted. "If fate is really the perfect judge, another toss shouldn't change the outcome in the grand scheme of things."

"Perhaps not," Two-Face granted, "but why would I do that?"

"Flip it again. Leave it to chance. Scarred side up, you get to shoot." Batman didn't mention that he would dodge the bullet. "Clean side, you stop committing crimes until after Christmas."

"High stakes, Batman."

"Chance _is _high stakes." Sentimentality was a weakness, but Batman really didn't want to have to lug someone who was once an ally – and a good person – to prison on Christmas. There was a fifty-fifty chance he wouldn't have to – those were odds he was willing to work with.

The Harvey Dent in Two-Face made him consider the deal. "Fair enough." He flipped the coin again, and for the first time that night, it landed clean side up.

Batman allowed himself the ghost of a smile. "Hello, Harvey."

An instant change came over Two-Face. The gun lowered, the insanity in his eyes faded, the still-whole right side of his face almost seemed to overshadow the ruined left half, as Harvey Dent assumed control.

"Batman, how good to see you," he greeted.

"We don't have long," was Batman's simple reply.

"I know." Harvey sighed.

Unexpectedly, Batman dropped into the chair next to him and produced a bottle of bourbon and two glasses.

"You planned this?" Harvey sat down on the opposite side.

Batman shrugged. "I was feeling nostalgic."

"Thank you."

Batman nodded wordlessly and poured out the bourbon, passing one glass to Harvey. "Cheers," he said, holding up his own glass.

Harvey knocked his glass against Batman's, and they both drank. Then they talked – about the past, about Gotham, about previous Christmases in happier times – sipping bourbon all the while.

By dawn, Two-Face would have resurfaced, and Harvey Dent would once more be buried. But for now, Batman resolved to appreciate the moment. The scarred head was responsible for the crimes of Two-Face; but thanks to the other side of the coin, for a little while, he once again had his friend, Harvey Dent.

* * *

_**A/N: This is me hoping I got Two-Face's character okay. Thanks to his dual personality, he is incredibly hard to write.**_

_**TOMORROW: **A Kent Christmas**. If I have to explain to you which characters you might see in it, I have to wonder what you're doing reading Justice League fanfiction.**  
_


	12. A Kent Christmas

**_A/N: Thank-you's today go to _**_leathman, doglover500, Dextra2,_**_ and a new reviewer, _**_1Superman4Me_**_. :D_  
**

**_Let's now take a trip to the Kent farmstead in Smallville, Kansas._**

* * *

**A Kent Christmas**

Christmas 2000 was the first Kara Zor-El had ever experienced, and she'd delighted in asking questions about the traditions and customs of the Kents. By Christmas 2001, she played a more active role, happily taking part in celebrations she now understood. However, this year, Christmas 2002, Kara had to admit that Christmas on the Kent farm – indeed, Christmas in Smallville – could be summed up in one word: quiet.

It was a state of matters that did not content her. Kara Zor-El, now Kara Kent, was a free, spontaneous spirit who loved adventures and thrills. In that regard, she was the complete opposite of her cousin, who was happy living a simple life as Clark Kent. Kara, however, could never be satisfied as just Kara Kent, and so she sometimes snuck out to stop crimes in Smallville. After almost a year of this, she was still operating mostly under the radar, but most of Smallville knew her by sight now. They called her Supergirl because on her costume she'd deliberately adopted the same iconic 'S' symbol worn by the Man of Steel.

Boy, had she gotten in trouble for _that_. Way back in February, when he'd first found out, Clark had really dragged her over the coals for exposing herself like that.

"Villains," he'd told her, "will assume there's a connection between us, and they'll target you to get to me. What were you _thinking_?"

To be honest, she hadn't been. Thinking, that is. She'd just wanted to do something like her cousin was doing, and wearing the same symbol was a way for her to show that she was proud to call Superman her cousin. Clark was right, though – people in Smallville _had _assumed that Supergirl was somehow connected to Superman. The exact nature of this connection was unknown, though rumors abounded – they were friends, they were distant relatives, they were lovers (Kara had gagged when she heard _that _one) – but fortunately, these had died over time, as Superman and Supergirl never had any contact with each other, and people decided they had nothing more in common than their powers, their species, and their crest.

"Kara, get the door, please."

Kara blinked. "What?"

"The door," Martha Kent repeated as someone knocked again. "Didn't you hear it?"

Actually, Kara had been trying to think of ways she could make Christmas more exciting – the Kent tradition was lovely, but it was just too _staid _for her – so she hadn't, in fact, heard that someone was knocking.

Not wanting to admit that, she said quickly, "I'll get it", and went to open the door. "Clark!" she exclaimed, throwing herself on him.

"Hi, Kara," her larger cousin chuckled, hugging her.

"Hey, Aunt Martha!" Kara called. "How come you didn't tell me Clark was coming back for Christmas?"

"Because I didn't know he was," Martha replied, appearing behind Kara. Clark's eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"Merry Christmas, Ma," he wished her, giving her a hug too. "Where's Pa?"

"Getting more eggnog." Martha raised her voice and called, "Jonathan! Your son is home!"

An instant later, Jonathan Kent's head poked into the hallway. "Clark!" he exclaimed in delight.

"Hi, Pa." Clark smiled.

"Who's this?" Kara asked, pointing at the slim, violet-eyed brunette woman standing a little behind Clark.

"Oh, um…Ma, Pa…" said Clark, leading his companion forward, "this is Lois Lane."

"Oh?" Martha said, immediately interested.

Kara was not so subtle. "Lois Lane?" she repeated, glancing meaningfully at Clark. "As in…_the _Lois Lane?"

"Welcome, Ms. Lane," Jonathan said warmly, shaking her hand. "Clark's told us so much about you – he says you're the best reporter at the _Daily Planet_."

"I'm sure he was exaggerating," Lois said modestly, trading a pointed glance with Clark, who looked slightly sheepish.

"I don't think so, Ms. Lane. I've read some of your articles, and I have to say you truly are a marvelous reporter."

"Clark is an excellent judge of character," Martha added.

Lois wasn't normally a shy person, but meeting the people who had raised Superman after she'd just gotten engaged to said hero and hearing them praise her so highly was humbling. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Kent."

"None of that," Martha scolded gently. "It's Jonathan and Martha, please."

Lois smiled. "Only if you call me Lois."

"Done deal," Jonathan agreed.

"Can we go to the living room?" Clark asked. "We have something to tell you."

Martha nodded. "Of course. Make yourself at home, Lois," she invited.

"Thank you."

As they made their way to the simply-furnished living room, Kara's sharp eyes caught the light glinting off a ring as Lois' hand slipped familiarly into Clark's. She blinked in amazement for a second before a wide smile spread across her face, knowing her search had come to an end.

Christmas this year wasn't so boring after all.

* * *

_**A/N: Man, I sure hope not. I have yet to experience a Christmas that bored me. Let's hope it's a trend that continues.  
**_

_**TOMORROW: **Naughty but Nice**, in which a familiar villain discovers faith, hope, and charity this Christmas season.**_


	13. Naughty but Nice

**_A/N: So, thanks as usual to my reviewers: _**_Powerman911, doglover500, Dextra2,_**_ and _**_leathman_**_. _  
**

**_Today's character is probably one of the most recognizable villains in the DC universe. He's been potrayed in film, TV series, cartoons, animated movies, novels...in anything with Superman, he's almost always there. Yes, I'm talking about the one and only Lex Luthor._**

* * *

**Naughty but Nice**

"Mercy, hold all my calls for the rest of the day, and cancel my appointments. I have business elsewhere."

Mercy knew better than to question where the employer she acted as secretary for was going, so she simply said, "Yes, Mr. Luthor."

Lex Luthor nodded curtly as he shrugged his coat on and made his way out of the door. He knew full well what Mercy thought of him, but he also knew she would obey his orders. His secretary might despise him, but at the same time she bore him a grudging respect. Lex was no stranger to being disliked, so as long as Mercy continued in her present attitude, he had no problems.

Christmas Day at Lexcorp was not a big deal. There would always be a big tree set up in the main hall, of course – splendidly decorated and artistically outdoing most other company trees, just to prove they could – but other than that, there were no special events. The majority of Lexcorp's employees requested leave on that day, which Lex was happy to give them – only his innermost circle worked, and that only a half day.

He might be evil, but he wasn't a robot.

Today, though, Lex was leaving early because he had a number of…shady dealings he wanted to cover up. These particular deals did not directly implicate him – merely tied loosely to Lexcorp – but since he had the time, he wanted to erase any trails. Loose ends were such a pain.

Lex's first stop was his two million-dollar penthouse in Oakley, one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Metropolis. There, he swapped his smart business suit for a less expensive, more inconspicuous T-shirt, jeans, and jacket outfit. Then he dug around his closet until he found a worn pair of shoes to slip into and a denim cap that he pulled over his bald head. A quick glance in the mirror showed that, after adjusting his posture and changing his usual haughty expression to something more streetwise, he looked like an entirely different person.

Lex smiled self-deprecatingly into the mirror. "Hello, Mr. Irving."

He hailed a taxi once he walked out of Oakley and rode it to 29th Street, where he was meeting with the leader of a local smuggling gang. In exchange for a favor to be called in when he had need of it, Lex had agreed to move their products for them, but his signature was not on any paperwork. He just had to make sure Boss Lothario would keep his mouth shut.

"You brought the documents?" Lex inquired of the tall, dark-skinned man.

"Yes, of course," Lothario replied as he handed Lex the sheaf of papers. At Lex's behest, the mob boss had collected every single sheet that mentioned or alluded to their covert deal. Lex took them and hid them under his jacket – he would burn them as soon as he got home – and passed Lothario an envelope of money. Strictly speaking, the added cash incentive was not necessary - if Lothario happened to be arrested and he still talked about Lex's involvement after their deal, with no paper trail, Lex could deny it ever happened – but Lex liked to keep on good terms with Metropolis' criminal network wherever possible. It was always far more convenient if he could contact them for news or jobs.

They parted ways, and Lex walked down the street.

"Excuse me! You there, in the cap – wait!"

Lex blinked in surprise as a young woman with pale brown hair came running after him.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"Oh, no, don't worry." She laughed. "My name is Haley. I volunteer at the orphanage here." She gestured at the large, run-down shelter just beside the place where they stood. A dingy sign told Lex it was the Faith, Hope, and Charity Home.

"If you're looking for donations, I don't have any money on me." Not that he would give any to this girl who looked as though she'd just come out of high school, or the orphanage with the corny name. He had a fortune, yes, but he had better things to use that fortune for.

"Oh, no, I'm not asking for anything like that," Haley assured him.

"Then what do you want?" he demanded impatiently. She winced slightly, flustered.

"It's just…well, it's Christmas Day, and the kids were so looking forward to having Santa Claus visit. We had someone who volunteered to be Santa today, but he came down sick with the flu, and we've been trying to find someone else. Do you think you could help us out?"

Lex was shaking his head before she'd finished her sentence. "No, I don't think –"

"Please, please, please?" Haley begged, clasping her hands together. "It's only for a couple of hours – and we'll give you lunch and you'll get a little gift for doing it – nothing expensive, we don't have the funds, but something nice – just _please_ be Santa Claus for the kids. He's supposed to arrive in half an hour, and they would be absolutely crushed if he didn't show – you should have seen their faces when we told them he was coming."

Lex looked down at her earnest, pleading face, and felt a tiny trickle of compassion. He sighed. "All right, look, I'm really quite busy, but I guess –"

"Oh, thank you!" Haley beamed, her face lighting up in relief. "Hey, Al!" she called. "I found our Santa Claus!"

"Really?" Al, a middle-aged African-American, poked his head out of the orphanage door. "Great! Bring him in and get him dressed – I'll gather the kids."

Horrified, Lex watched as Al disappeared back inside. He had only meant to say that he would write a check for a moderate sum to the orphanage – something that would have a much more lasting value than _Santa Claus _– but the idiot girl had decided he was actually _accepting _the job!

Haley turned back to Lex. "Come on – the kids are gonna be so excited!" She all but skipped into the orphanage while Lex quickly contemplated his options.

He could insist that there had been a misunderstanding – explain that he _hadn't _agreed to become Santa Claus – but that would just lead to more frantic begging on Haley's part – and most likely Al's too. He could plead an urgent appointment and make his escape, but Haley looked desperate enough to follow him so she could beseech the people he was meeting with to postpone the appointment. Or, he could leave – slip down the street and disappear – but that would be too cruel, even for him.

Lex groaned, realizing there was no way out – he would have to be Santa Claus before he could get on with his errands. Stomping his way into the orphanage after Haley, he swore he would find out whoever came up with this ludicrous Santa Claus person and con their descendants as revenge.

"By the way," Haley said, half-turning to face him, "what's your name? I didn't catch it earlier."

_You never asked_, Lex thought sardonically. With a perfectly straight face, he answered, "John Smith."

"Really?" Haley looked excited. "I've never actually met someone with that name before."

Amazing. This child actually thought that was his name. Honestly, _who_ believed that nowadays? It was no wonder the orphanage was floundering, if its caretakers were so naïve. Lex kept his mouth shut, though, determined not to prolong this process any more than absolutely necessary.

Haley led him to a small, musty back room and pointed out a large pillow and a faded Santa Claus outfit that reeked of mothballs. Lex wrinkled his nose in distaste. He was expected to wear _that_?

"Sorry about the smell," she apologized. "It hasn't been worn since last Christmas."

Well, _obviously_. Who in the world was going to wear a Santa Claus costume when it wasn't Christmas? _Have some sense, girl._ Lex felt like making a cutting remark, but instead he forced a smile and nodded politely. "That's okay – it's for the kids." _Urgh! _It was a good thing he was such a superb actor.

"Right on, Mr. Smith." Haley saluted happily. "I'll leave you to change, then." She stepped out of the room and closed the door.

Lex stared at the bleached red pants and tunic, the lackluster black belt, the limp hat with its threadbare white fur trimming, and the straggly dirty-white fake beard and hair. He couldn't believe he was actually going to put those on his body. Cringing, he reluctantly pulled on all parts of the Santa outfit, then stuffed the lumpy pillow down his front to make himself look fat and jolly (the latter was debatable, but whatever).

"Oh, wow!" Haley exclaimed when Santa Lex emerged looking like an overlarge drowned tomato, scowling ferociously. She peered carefully at his beard, trying to see under it. "Are you…frowning?"

"No," Lex lied, smoothing his face. "I'm smiling."

"Oh. Well, you'd better work on that – don't want to scare the kids." Haley laughed, nervous for the first time. "Come on, then." He followed her to the common room, where thirty-odd children ranging in age from four to thirteen were gathered. Haley gave him a bag of sweets and told him to wait outside the door while she went in to announce his entrance.

Lex took the opportunity to take note of the environment in the common room. Haley hadn't been exaggerating about the kids' excitement. Their anticipation was palpable in the air – Lex could feel it. As he looked closer at their shining faces – miraculously joyful despite the ramshackle conditions they were living in – he felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the orphans. _This is no place to grow up. _Suddenly, wearing the smelly Santa suit didn't seem so bad – he only had to endure it for a few hours, whereas these kids had to spend years in this derelict place. _How do they _live_?_

Haley's voice floated from the room. "Okay, kids, are you ready to meet Santa Claus?"

Most of them yelled "Yes!", but one boy declared, "I don't believe in Santa Claus."

"Well, that's too bad," said Haley, "because he's already here."

"Ho, ho, ho!" Lex marched in, swinging his bag and doing his best jolly-old-fat-man impression while the children cheered for him.

"Yay, Santa!"

"Hello there, children!" said Lex, making a genuine effort to smile at the kids. "Have you all been good this year?"

Heads nodded eagerly. "Yes!"

"Is that so? Well, let me check my book…" This wasn't part of the script, but Lex figured he might as well play the part to the fullest. Reaching under his red jacket, he pulled out the small notebook in which he recorded all his contacts and pretended to go through the list.

"Good news," he announced, clapping the book shut, "you've all been good, so you all get candy."

"Hurray!" the kids shouted.

Lex dipped into his bag and began distributing the sweets – even going so far as to make a game of it, by tossing the candy for the kids to catch or making them magically appear in all sorts of places. By the time the bag was empty, the kids were all beaming sunnily, even the solitary thirteen-year-old who'd claimed he didn't believe in Santa.

Lex found himself warming to his role as the hour wore on. He played with the children, asking them questions about Christmas and entertaining them with traditional stories he remembered from his childhood. He led them in singing a few carols and was pleasantly surprised to discover that five or six of them had quite good voices. He gave them puzzles and riddles to discuss and try to answer and performed some rudimentary magic for them.

Then it was time for lunch, which also signaled that Lex's time as Santa Claus was drawing to a close. The meal was simple – baked potatoes, boiled carrots, and sausages cooked in some kind of sauce – but exceptionally tasty. However, Lex noted that it was low in nutritional value, and he knew without asking that the regular fare at the orphanage was similar to this lunch – perhaps even less so.

_Something really needs to be done about this place, _he told himself. _These kids can't grow up like this – what kind of life will they have?_

And yet, none of the thirty-two children here seemed to feel they were lacking anything. From what Lex gathered as he ate his lunch with Haley, Al, and Ingrid, another, older woman who helped run the orphanage, most of the kids here had grown up in even seedier neighborhoods and lost their parents to the rampant crime there. With a past like that, it was no wonder they were grateful to have a place like this to stay in, no matter that it was old and rundown. Hearing this, Lex felt rather uncomfortable knowing that a mere three hours ago he'd given a mob boss two thousand dollars without a second thought.

_What could two thousand dollars do here? _he wondered.

A little girl – an adorable five-year-old with bouncy red curls – shyly approached their table.

"What is it, Lily?" Haley asked kindly.

"Can I…can I speak to Mr. Santa?"

Haley glanced at Lex, who nodded. "Of course," she said, guiding the child to Lex.

"What is it, Lily?" Lex inquired.

"I just wanted to say thank you for coming to play with us." Lily's voice was quiet and timid, but full of sincerity and affection. "I know there's lots of kids in the world you have to visit too, so it's nice that you came here."

For once, Lex was speechless. Lily's jewel green eyes were full of gratitude, but also a shadow of sorrow that shouldn't have been there from losing her parents so young. Lex bent down to her level and said, "You're very welcome, Lily."

Lily smiled before scampering back to her friends. Lex watched her go with a new sense of compassion in his heart.

When the time came for Santa Claus to leave, Lex was not sorry to be rid of the shabby Santa suit. However, he adamantly refused to accept the neatly wrapped gift Haley presented him with, or the twenty-dollar bill Ingrid tried to force on him instead.

"The children's smiles were payment enough," he told them, and he was stunned to find that it was the truth. _You're going soft, Lex._

"Thank you so much, Mr. Smith," Haley said gratefully, waving as he walked out of the orphanage. "Merry Christmas!"

Lex picked up where he'd left off and completed the rest of his business by dinner, which he ate in a small corner restaurant. He was still thinking about the children at the orphanage when he went back to his home to shower and clean up. Looking around his luxury penthouse and recalling how dilapidated the orphanage had been by contrast, he clucked in disapproval.

"They most definitely cannot continue living like that," he muttered.

Sauntering to his glass-top desk, Lex retrieved his checkbook and quickly filled out a slip for ten thousand dollars. When his pen hovered over the blank for the recipient's name, he had to pause to think.

"What was that place called again?" he mused. "Three words, something ironically meaningful – ah, yes." He neatly wrote the name down and signed the check with a flourish.

And there it was – Lex Luthor's good deed for Christmas. He scanned the check once more to satisfy himself that it was perfect, then he shook his head sadly.

"Lex, you're losing your edge." He scoffed. "Well, nothing says Christmas like Faith, Hope, and Charity." He glanced down at the check one more time and allowed himself a small smile. He had to admit, it felt good to do a good deed for once.

_Faith, Hope, and Charity, just this once._

* * *

_**A/N: Lex Luthor is a very complex villain. He's an evil genius, but he's also willing to make bargains, and I believe he does have some small speck of compassion that comes out on rare occasions - like when he attended Superman's funeral in the JL episode **Hereafter**, and when he was Clark Kent's friend in **Smallville**. There's much more to Mr. Luthor than meets the eye.**  
_

_**TOMORROW: Features a major turning point for **Jade and Obsidian**. Don't worry if you don't know who they are - all will be explained. But for those of you who do know them, tomorrow is going to be sad.**  
_


	14. Jade and Obsidian

**_A/N: Reviewers to thank today: _**_Dextra2, doglover500, 1Superman__4__Me, leathman,_**_ and _**_Powerman911_**_. Thank you so much!_  
**

**_As promised, here are the twin children of Alan Scott, Earth's first Green Lantern and a member of the Justice Society. Brace yourselves - this is one sad chapter._**

* * *

**Jade and Obsidian**

_It should be raining._

Jen cast a glare at the sun for daring to come out on this day.

_I don't care if it's Christmas – it should be raining._

Never mind that rain would wash off the dye she was using on her skin to appear 'normal'. Jen had long since realized that though people had learned to be less xenophobic than they used to be, being green still attracted a lot of attention – and she was not in any mood to answer curious questions today. But in Jen's mind, the day should not be bright and sunny – it should be grey and rainy to fit her mood.

A tear trickled down her cheek. _In the movies, it always rains at funerals._

* * *

Todd stood next to his sister, barely listening as the priest spoke about the afterlife. He was instead trying not to cry.

Todd had never been one for crying – when he was upset, he tended to lash out at anyone and anything who was unfortunate enough to be in his way. But today, it was amazing how hard he had to fight not to cry – which was odd, considering that this was one occasion when even he deemed it all right to cry.

But he wouldn't. Jen was already sniffling quietly, hiding the damage her tears caused to her skin dye by covering the bottom half of her face with her hand – why she'd rubbed the fake color on in the first place if she knew she'd be mourning today was beyond him – but Todd reminded himself that he would…not…cry. He would be strong for his sister, and for the father he was burying today.

* * *

The priest finally stopped talking and looked solemnly at those who had gathered in the cemetery. As he'd expected, there were very few present; aside from the deceased's two children, only five other people were here*. Considering it was Christmas Day, it was completely understandable. He himself had initially refused to perform the ceremony today – they could wait until the 26th, at least – but the man's son and daughter had pleaded with him. They hadn't wanted to put off laying their father to rest – they refused to leave him in a freezer for two days while they waited for Christmas to be over – and after much persuasion, the priest had agreed. A half-hour ceremony after Christmas service – that was all he needed to do before he celebrated with his family.

Looking at the two young adults who came forward to say their last goodbye to their father, he was glad he had done it.

* * *

_The news came when they least expected it. Jen and Todd were at their father's house, playfully teasing each other and preparing for Christmas Eve dinner, when the phone rang. It was Jen who answered, and when she heard what the paramedic on the other end had to tell her, she became angry. She proceeded to chew the poor man out, her voice rising almost hysterically with each word._

_ "Don't ever," she finished vehemently, "call here again with your lies." Then she slammed the phone down so violently the cradle chipped._

_ Jen's behavior tipped Todd off that something was very wrong. Wary, he asked, "Who was that?"_

_ "Some paramedic – I don't know what his game is, and I don't care – but I'm not believing any of his lies." Even as she said it, Jen was shaking, and her voice trembled like she was holding back tears._

_ "Jen, what did he say?"_

_ Jen forced a smile. "It doesn't matter. It isn't true."_

_ It took two whole minutes of coaxing on Todd's part to get the truth from her – the paramedic had called to say their father was dead. He'd skidded on some ice while driving to a friend's house and crashed into a building. He was not a young man, and the impact had jarred his heart too much – he was pronounced dead on arrival._

_ Jen's wall broke down when they rushed to the hospital morgue to see for themselves and she could no longer deny it. Todd held her and asked the nurse to apologize to the paramedic whom Jen had yelled at. Unlike his sister, he didn't cry at all._

_ Needless to say, their Christmas was thoroughly ruined._

* * *

The mint green rose – carefully cultivated by the mother who had declined to attend for fear of becoming someone else and methodically stripped of all thorns by Jen – represented both the legacy of their father and the nature of their mother, and it was the flower each person at the funeral held today, having been precisely selected as one of utmost significance to the family of Jen and Todd.

Jen was the first to lay her rose on her father's coffin. She lost control the minute its petals touched the smooth polished wood and broke down into fresh tears. Todd followed after, hurriedly laying his own rose on the coffin before wrapping his arms consolingly around her. Still no tear came from him.

* * *

_"The mortician says we'll have to wait until the 26th before we can bury him," Todd told his sister wearily._

_ "I'm not waiting that long," Jen responded tightly. "We'll find someone to do it tomorrow."_

_ "Jen, you do know what day tomorrow is?"_

_ "So?" she retorted. "Fate didn't care that today was Christmas Eve, did it?" Her lip trembled. "Todd, it's _Dad_. Do you want him spending his last Christmas Day in a morgue freezer?"_

_ Todd sighed sadly. "No."_

* * *

They were twins, and because of their mother's past, they had never been able to determine who was the elder, so when the time came to lower the coffin into the earth, Jen and Todd cast their handfuls of soil at the same time.

* * *

The priest watched, mesmerized by the totally different displays of grief from the brother and sister. Jen was sobbing freely into Todd, who was holding her protectively. Though Todd didn't shed a tear, his face was pinched and anguished.

_Poor children, _the priest thought sympathetically. _No one should have to attend a funeral on Christmas Day. But the Lord knows what he's doing. _He whispered a silent, private prayer for the both of them before leaving the cemetery.

* * *

_They first learned of each other, and their biological father, when they were seventeen years old. Jen was a formerly happy, carefree teenager in Milwaukee, Wisconsin whose life had just turned upside down when her skin became green after she'd first used her ability to manipulate energy to fight off a rapist; whereas Todd was a reserved and defensive young man from Los Angeles, California recovering from physical and emotional scars left by his adopted father's abuse while exploring the depths of his shadowy powers._

_ At eighteen, unable to bear the revulsion her adopted family showed her because of the unnatural color of her skin, Jen ran away from home and found Todd. The two connected on a deep level, and spent the next year traveling together, trying to find whatever information they could on their biological parents. They found nothing on their mother, but when they learned their father lived in Capitol City, that's where they went. _

* * *

They remained there for some time after the others left. They understood – it was Christmas, people had things to do.

But for Jen and Todd, Christmas would never ever be the same again. This chapter of their lives had begun and ended with Christmas;it had been Christmastime when they'd knocked on their father's door – Christmas Eve when their father welcomed them into the house that, if circumstances had been different, they would have grown up in – Christmas Day when both Jen and Todd had found a new life. Not including this year, they had had five Christmases with their father – Christmas 1997 that had brought them a great gift, Christmas 2002 that was the time of their father's death, and four Christmases in between that had been the best they'd ever had.

Now there would be no more. From this year on, whenever Christmas came, others would celebrate a holiday, but Jen and Todd would remember a death. Thanks to both the wonderful experiences they'd had with their father, and the tragic events of yesterday and today, Christmas for Jennie-Lynn Hayden and Todd James Rice was forevermore linked to the name, and the legacy, of Alan Scott.

* * *

_**A/N: Well, I did say the mood of the chapters in this fic would vary widely, didn't I? *FYI, three of the five other people at the funeral were Kent Nelson, Inza, and Barry Allen. Also, for those of you who don't know, Jen and Todd's mother is Rose Canton, a woman with dual personalities; her other identity was that of a plant-like villain named Thorn.**_

_**P.S. Seriously, in the movies, it does always rain at funerals. ALWAYS.  
**_

_**TOMORROW: A young hero learns the **Assassin's Creed**. **_


	15. Assassin's Creed

**_A/N: Thanks to _**_leathman, D__extra2,_**_ and _**_Powerman911__ for reviewing on yesterday's chapter._

**_Nobody managed to guess today's character(s) ;) It should be obvious enough once you start reading, though._**

* * *

**Assassin's Creed**

He spotted her just a minute after she saw him. She gave him a cheeky wave as she leapt from shadow to shadow. Naturally, he chased after her. He had never seen her before, and in that outfit she could be either hero or villain. He needed to find out which.

It wasn't long before he figured out that she was most assuredly a villain, up to no good. He attempted to corner her, demand what she was doing here and who she was working for. She nimbly marshaled all his questions and twisted them back on him cuttingly. He growled, and she smiled serenely. All of a sudden, she vanished, slipping easily into the shadows. The jade green eyes and frozen grin on her white mask were the last to fade from his sight.

What followed was a dangerous game of cat and mouse. She was a brilliant avoider, stealth incarnate, and an outstanding master of several types of martial arts, some of which he'd never seen before. But he was an expert marksman and a trained combatant. The two continued their dance across the city, through alleys, against walls, over rooftops, clashing only infrequently as they followed a pattern of stealth and silence. When they met each other, they traded blows in lyric movements of skill and confidence, only to part again as she continually escaped his grasp and he had to pursue her once more.

As their chase went on, his frown deepened. He had no illusions about who held the upper hand in this dance – she was the one who kept on evading him as she pushed on towards a goal only she knew about, and he was merely the bewildered hunter running after her in his attempt to stop whatever crime she was planning to commit. _She_ was leading _him_, and she was directing the steps of their dance to take them farther into the heart of the city – and he began to have an inkling of what her intentions were.

He persisted in his efforts to capture her, just as she persevered in her escapades and continued to move inexorably towards her goal. With each step she took, and each step he made in return, his suspicion was only further confirmed in his mind, and he reached out with renewed determination to catch her.

Now that he knew where she was going, he allowed himself to fall behind; if she noticed, she didn't show it. Only a single glance backwards told him she knew he was no longer following her, and she pressed on forwards, a new jubilant quality to her steps.

He smiled grimly. She believed she had eluded him, but he knew this city like the back of his hand. His mind working on overdrive, he skirted around the roads and took a shorter route, cutting across town to reach the mansion before she did. Then he positioned himself on the roof and waited.

He did not wait long. Within minutes of his arrival, she appeared, moving swiftly towards her destination. Just as she was about to enter, he dropped down behind her and seized her by her long black hair. She grunted in pain and annoyance, but he ignored her as he dragged her to the other side of the road. It wasn't very chivalrous of him, but considering her intent, he decided he could be forgiven for his rudeness this one time.

For the first time that night, the dance switched sides, their roles reversed. Now _he_ was leading _her_; he pulled her to a secluded corner and only then did he release her hair. Angrily, he confronted her head on, asking why she was trying to infiltrate the Mayor's house. In a bored tone of voice, she told him he already knew why, otherwise he wouldn't have reacted as strongly as he had.

He scowled and shook her. Why, he demanded, was she trying to kill the Mayor?

The answer slipped from her lips easily, without thought: she was an assassin, it was her job.

Next he questioned who had employed her 'services' – he wanted to know who had hired her to kill the man he considered a second father, even if he would never admit it out loud.

She replied that it was part of the assassin's creed not to expose her client.

He shook her again, growling out threats. His warning was clear: if she didn't want her life to become exceedingly difficult, she would stay away from the Mayor. If she fulfilled her contract to kill the Mayor, there would be no place on earth that she could hide from him.

She laughed, unconcerned. Then, without warning, she launched herself at him. He dodged, and in the ensuing struggle, he ripped her mask off her face, revealing angular, Oriental features. She'd stopped laughing now, demanding her mask back. He told her he would trade it if she promised not to kill the Mayor.

Her eyes narrowed to slits, but there was something new in her eyes – in addition to the danger and the smugness, there was grudging admiration, and something else he could not identify. Finally, she straightened and agreed to his terms.

Taken by surprise – for he had not expected her to acquiesce so easily to his deal – he suspiciously inquired why she was suddenly so accommodating. To that, she simply replied that he had been a worthy opponent, and that she liked that. Thus, she was giving him a Christmas gift: her solemn promise not to assassinate the Mayor. When asked how he could trust her, she told him that it was part of the assassin's creed to keep her word. She had, however, one condition for her compliance.

His eyes narrowed. What condition?

In response, she stepped closer, presumably so she could whisper it in his ear. However, she shocked him by planting a fleeting kiss on his lips before snatching her mask back and vanishing completely, leaving him alone on the street; and the ghost of her light laugh lingering on the air was the only remnant of the meeting between the archer Speedy and the assassin Cheshire.

* * *

_**A/N: Thus begins the complicated acquaintance between Speedy and Cheshire...again. **_

_**TOMORROW: DC comic fans will get a kick out of this. A certain royal attempts to be **Home for the Holidays**, but it seems fate is against it. Featuring new characters, and a few twists I bet you won't see coming.  
**_


	16. Home for the Holidays

**_A/N: My thanks to _**_leathman, Dextra2,_**_ and _**_Powerman911_**_ - my three faithful reviewers. Also, congrats to _**_Powerman911_**_ for guessing the main character in today's story.  
_**

**_Here's another long chapter. Those of you who are DC comic readers should recognize not just Geo-Force, but also the characters introduced here.  
_**

* * *

**Home for the Holidays**

Brion tapped his foot as he waited impatiently for the call to board his plane. As he turned to the schedule board for the umpteenth time, he cursed under his breath.

_It is just my luck, _he thought to himself, _that my plane is delayed. _Brion anxiously checked his expensive Rolex watch and groaned at the lateness of the hour.

It was December 23rd and he, Brion Markov, Prince of Markovia, was stuck in the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport in Florida waiting for the plane that would take him home for Christmas. Brion would have taken an earlier flight, but December was peak season and he'd been kept busy by exams. Hence, the late travel plans.

When the P.A. system announced that Flight 323 to Bucharest, Romania (Markovia was too small to have an international airport) was once again delayed, Brion had to remind himself that he _liked _studying in America and he would most definitely regret switching his place of education to the Royal University of Markovia, no matter that it was in his home country. At twenty-two, Brion was in his third year of college, and enjoying every minute of it. Here in the United States, he was not a celebrity who couldn't go out anywhere without being dogged by the press – here, he was simply a young man studying abroad, and he was sorry to know that in a little under two years his course would be over and he would have to return to Markovia and be Prince Brion once again.

The P.A. system dinged, and a woman's clear voice announced, _"Attention, passengers of Flight 323 to Bucharest – we regret to inform you that your flight has been canceled due to unfavorable weather conditions in Bucharest. Repeat – Flight 323 to Bucharest has been canceled."_

Brion didn't bother to mutter his curses quietly this time – he let loose vocally, and around him, other would-be passengers did the same.

"'Unfavorable weather conditions'?" a young man about Brion's age repeated incredulously. "Bucharest was sunny this morning! I know – I checked the weather report!"

Brion dug out his laptop from his carry-on luggage and turned it on. Within a few minutes, he had accessed the real-time weather report of Bucharest.

"Well, it isn't sunny now," he said, showing the other man the description of the massive blizzard that was currently storming across Romania's capital city. The man winced at the report.

"I suppose I'll go get my luggage, then," he sighed morosely. "There is no way a plane is getting anywhere near that city for the next 24 hours."

Brion "Hmm"ed absently, checking his email and figuring he'd just wait for the blizzard to die down before getting another flight as other disgruntled passengers filed out to reclaim their baggage, collect their refunds, and arrange for transport home. It wasn't until a few minutes later that what the man said actually clicked in Brion's head.

_24 hours?!_

Hastily slamming the lid of his laptop down, Brion checked his watch again. 21:53. Then he stuffed his computer back into his bag and rushed for the ticket counter.

"Can I help you?" the attendant inquired disinterestedly.

"Yes. Do you have any flights leaving for Budapest tonight?" Hungary was a good deal farther west of Markovia than Romania, but Brion was willing to endure a longer journey if it meant he could get home for Christmas.

"One minute." The attendant typed something into his computer. "None tonight, but there's one tomorrow morning…"

"What time?" Brion interrupted.

"The plane leaves at 4 a.m."

Brion quickly did some mental calculations. It took approximately ten hours to fly from Miami to Budapest, and Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood Airport was just a few miles north of Miami. If he took the flight, he should reach Budapest around 2 p.m. U.S. East Coast time – which, factoring in the time zones, was 8 p.m. in Budapest. This was, of course, provided he was fortunate enough to even get a ticket in the first place.

"Are there any seats left on the plane?"

For the first time, the attendant showed a spark of alertness. "Sir, this is peak season for any airport – I'm afraid I –"

"Just check!" Brion interrupted. "Please," he added.

With a sigh, the attendant turned back to the computer. His eyes widened. "Well, I'll be damned," he murmured. "You're in luck, sir – there's one last seat in economy class."

"Great," said Brion. "I'll take it."

"You realize the ticket will be more expensive because the purchase is so close to departure time?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Brion demanded, handing him a credit card. "Put the bill on this."

"Yes, sir."

Once he had secured his ticket, Brion made his way to the luggage counter and retrieved the suitcases he'd checked in for the Bucharest flight. Then he collected the refund he was owed and settled down to wait until he could check in for his new flight. He groaned as he realized he had to hang around for at least another four hours.

_This is going to be a long night._

* * *

Brion leaned back in the chair and pinched his forehead tiredly. A glance at his watch told him it was near midnight. He stared blearily at the open physics textbook resting on his lap – he'd figured he might as well get some homework done while he was waiting. But a busy airport was not a particularly conducive environment for retaining complex mathematical formulas, and Brion was beat.

"Screw this," he muttered, packing up his textbook. He paused to smile at his choice of words. _American swear words. Dylan would be so proud. _His best friend from college, Dylan Whittaker, was always trying to get the Markovian prince to 'get with the lingo' in America.

Loading his two suitcases and his carry-on luggage onto a trolley, Brion picked his way through the airport with the intention of getting something to eat. So far, all the restaurants he had seen were big fast food chains – McDonald's, KFC, Kenny Roger's, Burger King, etc. _Why aren't there any _simple _restaurants?_

At last, though, he came to a small corner shop that served Italian food. Brion stopped there to eat. As he downed the last of his drink, he wondered if he should make a call to his family in Markovia.

_Hm, no…it's still early morning there. Best not to disturb them._

Brion yawned and decided to find someplace to doze off for a while. He had two hours and thirty minutes more to wait – he might as well get a good nap.

* * *

Brion awoke at 3 a.m., even though he'd set his cell phone alarm for 2 a.m. _I must have been more tired than I thought._

He was jolted further awake when he realized he had less than an hour to check in, submit his luggage, and get on the plane. Hurriedly getting to his feet, he pushed his trolley along to the counter.

_Shit! _he thought, seeing the long queue. He started cursing himself for oversleeping – if he'd woken at the sound of his alarm, he would've been the first to check in.

_Well, no use berating something I can't change now. _With a sigh, Brion took his place in the queue.

* * *

It was 3:45 by the time Brion finally got onto the plane – he just managed to make the final boarding call.

_At last, _he thought in relief, settling into his seat. He closed his eyes and soon drifted off again.

By the time he woke up, there was less than an hour of the flight left. Brion started making plans for his journey from Budapest to Markovia.

_I'll take the 10 p.m. Euro train from Budapest, _he decided.

* * *

His plan was set back by an incident on his way through Customs. The Customs officials found something suspicious in the I.D. of one of the passengers. The person in question – a blonde haired young woman with ice blue eyes – protested that there was nothing wrong with her papers and attempted to persuade the officials to let her through.

"I am going to ask you this one more time," the Customs official said exasperatedly. "If you do not answer truthfully, there will be severe consequences. What…is…your…name?"

"Violet Harper," the woman replied. "I told you already."

The official sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Okay, Miss – if you're Violet Harper, maybe you'd like to explain to me why your eyes are blue, when they are clearly brown in your passport photo."

"I can't explain that," Violet said. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. "It must be a trick of the light."

"I might believe that, if we hadn't searched your name on the internet." The Customs official frowned sternly at her. "The official records say Violet Harper died six months ago, so you obviously can't be her – which means you stole her identity."

"But I am Violet!" she protested, though she sounded frightened. "Look at me! Except for my eyes, I look exactly like the woman in the photo!"

"Yes, the resemblance is astounding, I must admit – but still." He stared at her. "I think you'd better come with me, Miss."

"Excuse me, sir," Brion interrupted as the official started leading 'Violet Harper' away. As the person next in line, he had witnessed the whole thing. "But may I see the photo?"

The Customs official drew himself up pompously. "Young man, I have been working Customs at this airport for seven years. I assure you, my suspicions are legit."

"I'm sure they are," Brion agreed. "But it's late, and I'm sure you've been working long and hard. Why not let a fresh set of eyes – a third party with absolutely no personal stake in the matter – see the photo and confirm whether it is or isn't a trick of the light?"

The official appeared to be thinking it over. "Oh, very well," he relented, handing Brion Violet Harper's passport. "See what you make of that."

Brion quickly scanned the photo; the picture clearly showed Violet Harper's eyes to be brown. Thoughtfully, Brion's gaze flashed towards the woman in front of him; her eyes were definitely blue – the kind of clear, pale blue that no colored contact lens could hope to replicate for a naturally brown-eyed person. There was something else in her eyes as well – they were filled with a curiously child-like, innocent quality that led Brion to compare her with a newborn, however improbable that was.

'Violet's' expression, fearful and apprehensive, told Brion she knew he knew. But then Brion did something totally unexpected.

"Well, sir, it looks like she's telling the truth," he said to the Customs official. "This lady looks exactly like the picture in the passport – she must be Violet Harper."

As Violet's eyes widened in surprise, the official stammered in confusion, "But…her eyes…"

"Contact lenses," Brion lied smoothly, wondering why this excuse had not occurred to the woman – he doubted the official would have thought too deeply into the matter if she'd told him that up front. He himself wasn't quite certain who this woman was or why he was lying for her – he only knew that he was certain she wasn't a threat. She may not be who she claimed to be, but she was no terrorist – he could see that in the innocence of her eyes.

"But the official records clearly state that Violet Harper died in a shootout in the United States." The Customs official had regained his confidence.

Violet shot Brion another panicked look. He warned her to keep quiet with his eyes and said, "There have been cases where the records made a mistake – accidentally recorded deaths, or other life incidents."

"Well, I…" The Customs official shook his head authoritatively. "Be that as it may, I have a duty to investigate all discrepancies. I have to take her to the office to uncover the truth."

"Sir, it's Christmas Eve," Brion said. "Miss Harper has someone waiting for her, I'm sure – it wouldn't be fair to detain her."

"I'm sorry, but it's regulation. I simply must –"

"I will vouch for her," Brion said impulsively, causing Violet to stare at him. "You have my word that she won't be any trouble."

The Customs official eyed him dubiously. "As you said, sir, you don't know her. How can you possibly promise such a thing?"

Brion shrugged. "I've always been a good judge of character."

"That's all well and good, sir – but you'll forgive me if I can't trust a civilian to –"

"I am Prince Brion of Markovia," Brion told him, pulling his ace. "I assure you, sir, that I will take responsibility if Miss Harper causes any trouble."

The official blinked in surprise, his mouth forming a small 'O'. "Oh. Well, in that case…" He looked from Brion to Violet. "I suppose I can…well…"

"Thank you, sir." Brion took Violet's arm and steered her to his left. "Wait for me," he instructed.

She nodded, speechless, as Brion underwent his Customs check. He was passed through quickly, and then he closed the distance between himself and Violet.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, before he had a chance to open his mouth. "You can't think I'm actually Violet Harper."

"I don't know what to think," Brion replied honestly. "You _look _like Violet Harper, but I remember reading about that shootout in the newspaper. Violet Harper _did _die – but her body went missing before the funeral. Is that what happened? You didn't actually die, and you ran away?"

"I don't know. I don't even remember the shootout," she said wistfully.

Brion peered closely at her. "Who are you, really?"

"I…I'm not sure," she admitted. "I just remember waking up somewhere in…Montana, I think…but I have no idea what happened before that. There was no one around, and I didn't know what to do, so I just started walking.

"I found a newspaper and read that article about the shootout – there was a picture of the woman who died, and I realized she looked like me, so I thought I must be Violet Harper. I went to Violet's house, but her parents noticed straight away that my eyes were different. And I didn't recognize anything they showed me about Violet – not even her closest friends. They figured I was a look-alike suffering from amnesia, so they helped me get a job and stuff and retaught me a lot of things, but eventually they told me it was too painful for me to continue staying with them, because I looked so much like Violet.

"Before I left, I took Violet's passport and documents. I figured they wouldn't be needed anymore, and I could make use of them – I didn't think it was all that wrong, and I didn't know what else to do."

_Curiouser and curiouser, _Brion noted. "So what are you doing in Hungary?"

The woman who wasn't Violet shrugged. "I read Violet's diary, and she mentioned Budapest a lot. I thought if I came here, I'd be able to find some answers about Violet – whether I really am her, and if I'm not, maybe I'd get a clue about who I am." She looked at him pleadingly. "You have to understand – I can only remember the last six months, from the day after Violet Harper died. I don't know who I am, or what I'm doing – I couldn't even remember what a computer was."

"That must have been a pretty bad case of amnesia," Brion remarked lightly.

For the first time, Violet smiled, shyly. "You have no idea." Then she sighed. "I need to find some answers to get some peace of mind – maybe then I'll know what to do with my life." She added sincerely, "Thank you, for what you did."

"My pleasure," he replied. "Though, I would advise you to get rid of Violet Harper and create some new identity to avoid any more situations like that. If you're looking for answers, you won't want to be hindered by people questioning you why you aren't dead. At the very least, invest in some brown contact lenses if you want to keep Violet's identity."

"I'll keep that in mind." She gripped her bag and looked around, clearly wondering where she should go. Brion noticed this and marveled.

"You really have no idea what to do, do you?" he asked gently.

"No. But I've managed in the States for the past six months, and I'll manage here. Thanks again for your help." She picked a direction and started moving, but Brion held her arm.

"Listen," he said, scribbling his number on a piece of paper, "I hope you find what you're looking for." He gave the paper to her. "If you ever need help, call me."

She smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you…" – she checked the paper –"…Brion." She then paused before inquiring, "Is the right greeting at this time of year 'Merry Christmas'?"

He grinned back. "Yes."

"Well, then, Merry Christmas, Brion." She waved at him and disappeared, leaving Brion thinking thoughtfully about this endearing girl without a past.

* * *

The cross-continental Eurostar train was modern-looking and well-furbished. Brion watched the Romanian countryside go by as the train speeded past at 300 kilometers per hour.

Brion sighed as he turned back to his textbook. Because he'd stopped to help the girl who may or may not have been Violet Harper, he'd only gotten on the train at 11 p.m. Budapest time. Since the train had to cross the entire breadth of Romania and then some before reaching Markovia, it was a thirteen hour ride – and that meant that, since Markovia time was one hour ahead of Budapest, he would arrive at 1 p.m. on Christmas Day.

_I should have been home by now, _he couldn't help thinking. If his flight to Bucharest had not been canceled, he would have reached Markovia by Christmas Eve night. Instead, here he was on a train at 10 a.m. on Christmas Day, two hours away from his destination. Brion was impatiently waiting for the end of his journey. He had never done this much traveling in so few hours before.

* * *

Half an hour later, to Brion's dismay, the train broke down. He had to resist the urge to bang his head against the wall as he and the other passengers waited two hours for the maintenance crew to determine, locate, and repair the slipped gears in the engine.

_Fate must hate me, _he grumbled mentally.

* * *

It was a relief when the train finally pulled into the station at 3:03 p.m. Brion had called ahead to arrange his ride, so the royal limousine was waiting for him.

"Merry Christmas, Your Highness." Dimitrie, Brion's chauffeur ever since he could remember, looked over his headrest at him. "How was the journey?"

"Long." Brion closed his eyes as he leaned against the soft leather seats. "Take me home, Dimitrie."

Dimitrie smiled knowingly. "Of course, Brion."

Brion opened his eyes to stare at his driver. "What's going on, Dimitrie?" he asked. "I've been trying to get you to call me by my name for years, but you've never bent before."

Dimitrie smirked as he started the car. "Consider it my Christmas gift to you."

"Thank you." Brion added, "Another gift would be getting me to the palace within the hour."

"Done."

* * *

Unfortunately, fate, it appeared, had other plans. Brion barely refrained from swearing profanely when they got caught in a massive traffic jam on the highway.

"Good God, what do I have to do to get home?" he demanded of no one in particular.

Thanks to the traffic, a journey that should have taken less than an hour took them three hours, with the result that it was 6 p.m. and getting dark by the time they finally pulled into the palace driveway.

Brion heaved a sigh of relief as he got out of the car and stretched his limbs. With the exception of the three-hour break between the end of his plane flight and the beginning of his train ride and the two hours of stoppage during said train ride, he had been traveling nonstop for thirty-one hours.

"Welcome home, Brion." The Markov family's head housekeeper, Marius – a man who had been with them for decades and whom Brion considered an uncle – smiled at him.

"Good to be home, Marius," he responded with feeling. "Mother and Father?"

"They're at a state function in Moscow. They will return on the 28th."

Brion exhaled. _Is it too much to ask that they be home for Christmas? _This occurrence was not a new experience – the King and Queen of Markovia had always tended to be too busy with political matters to make time for family, even during holidays.

"And where's –"

"She's in her room, reading," Marius replied. "I did not tell her you were coming – I imagined you'd like it to be a surprise."

Brion smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Marius." Without further ado, he slipped into the palace.

This was his first time back since leaving for college in 2000, but the palace hadn't changed a bit. The warm earth tone of the stone walls was still the same, the yellow and green flag of Markovia still waved proudly from the turrets, and with the exception of one or two new additions, the exact same tapestries and portraits still adorned the hallways. Brion made his way up the staircase to the familiar room.

"Enter," the gentle feminine voice said when he knocked on the door.

Plastering a big grin on his face, Brion opened the door and went in.

The squeal of joyful delight Tara Markov made when she saw him made all the traveling worth it. All the hassle, the delays, the bone-tired weariness – all of it had led to this single moment. As he wrapped his arms around his younger sister, Brion Markov was glad – and more than glad – that he had persevered in his attempts to get home for Christmas, if only to see that lovely smile on Tara's face.

"You made it," Tara breathed, eyes shining.

"Of course I did," he responded, hugging her again. "I promised."

* * *

_**A/N: Dylan Whittaker, Dimitrie, and Marius are of my own creation, but Brion, 'Violet Harper', and Tara are true DC characters. What's that you're asking? Does this mean Diamond Earth will have the Outsiders? Oh, I don't know...who can know the future? ;)**_

_**TOMORROW: There is **A Small Matter** to be attended to.  
**_


	17. A Small Matter

**_A/N: Thanks to _**_leathman, Dextra2, Powerman911,_**_ and _**_doglover500_**_ for reviewing._  
**

**_Today's chapter is a short one, but pretty important for the Atom nevertheless._**

* * *

**A Small Matter**

_Beep-beep! Beep-beep!_

"Hello?"

_"Dr. Palmer, we need you to come back to the lab."_

A sigh. "Look, Cooper, I already told you I was taking off on Christmas Eve to spend time with Jean…"

_"Trust me, Palmer, you're gonna want to see this."_

"What on earth could be so important as to make me excited enough to drag me away from my wife on Christmas Eve?"

_"Uh-uh – nothing from earth. White dwarf star matter from space."_

A pause. Then: "You're serious?"

_"Would I joke about something like this?"_

There was excitement now. "How? When?"

_"It crashed outside the town about twenty minutes ago – they're transporting it back to the lab now. You in?"_

"Hell, yeah!"

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Dr. Ray Palmer was back at the Ivy Town S.T.A.R. Lab, eager and ready to start his examination of the hunk of white dwarf star matter that had just been brought in.

"Cooper!" he called to the blond man, grinning.

"Hey, there you are!" Cooper grinned right back. "I knew this would get your attention."

"Are you kidding?" said Ray. "I've been waiting years for an opportunity like this."

"Did you call Jean yet?"

"Uh…I told her I'd be back late…"

"You should tell her not to expect you at all," Cooper said. "I know how you get when you get your hands on something good."

"She knows." Ray frowned. "At least, I think she does."

"You'd better call again and make sure – otherwise she'll rip you a new one when you finally get home."

"Don't I know it," Ray mumbled. "But first…" He rubbed his hands together in glee. "Where's the specimen?"

"Meta-Lab 1." Cooper gave him an ID card. "You're the only one with access in there. Rowling says you can pick two assistants to help you with the research, but only after they've been thoroughly vetted by the board, and after you've conducted a preliminary examination yourself."

"Got it. Thanks, Cooper."

* * *

Ray looked away from the microscope under which he'd conducted his experiment to jot down some notes in his notebook.

_Amazing, _he marveled. In his notebook, he wrote, _'Radiation from the white dwarf matter causes molecules to shrink to the subatomic level. I have successfully shrunk a variety of objects to sizes invisible to the naked eye.'_

A sudden small explosion came from under the microscope. Ray hastily sprayed water on it.

_'Unfortunately, it appears that such shrinkage destabilizes the molecules, causing it to explode. None of the shrunk objects have retained their integrity for more than a few minutes.'_

He glanced at the clock and was startled to find that it was 2 a.m. already. Reluctantly, he decided he'd better be getting home – Jean would kill him if he wasn't there on Christmas Day.

Before he left, he took a final look at the white dwarf star matter. His gaze was thoughtful as he added one last personal memo in his book.

_'If a way can be found to stabilize the molecules, the possibilities of the white dwarf matter are endless. It could even potentially be built into a suit that enables people to shrink to microscopic sizes.' _

And then he thought, half-jokingly, _Perhaps I will even attempt it myself._

* * *

_**A/N: And we all know what happens in a few months' time, don't we? **  
_

_**TOMORROW: **First Flight** - I promise, this one is longer. Introducing the Royal Flush Gang of the Diamond Earth universe, a familiar city, and and even more familiar heroine.  
**_


	18. First Flight

**_A/N: Thanks to _**_leathman, Dextra2, 1Superman4Me,_**_ and _**_Powerman911_**_ for reviewing. _**

**_After doing some research into the Royal Flush Gang, I decided to create my own characters for my version of the villain team. Therefore, the Royal Flush Gang featured here is an all-new group, born and bred in Diamond Earth._**

* * *

**First Flight**

Midway, Michigan was a proud city home to one of the most impressive museums in the entire United States. Famous for its rare and valuable exhibits, the Midway Museum was one of the main attractions of the mitten-shaped state, as well as a good source of revenue.

It also happened to be one of the most targeted locations for robberies. Many a thief had tried to make off with an object from the museum – just one of the antiquated displays would fetch a price that would set any criminal for life – but most had failed.

Tonight, though, luck was on the side of crime. One of the museum's security guards, exhausted from working two nights in a row for both his shift and his colleague's – who had unexpectedly come down sick – happened to be the last one to leave the museum on Christmas Eve night, and so it fell to him to lock up everything and set the alarm. However, in his fatigued state, his brain was not working as well as it normally did, and he overlooked the side door on his rounds. The result was that when he armed the electronic security system and left, one door remained unlocked.

* * *

"King! Tonight's our night. The museum guard left the door unlocked."

Kingston Lindsay, also known as King, was a swarthy-skinned man with a smooth shaved head. At his associate's words, he looked up with a gleam in his dark eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Kingston nodded. "Well, people," he said, looking around at his four friends. "Tonight, the Royal Flush Gang strikes the Midway Museum."

* * *

The Royal Flush Gang consisted of Kingston Lindsay, Queenie Ramirez, Jack Nottingham, Tennyson Vetz, and Ace O'Donnell, five young adults who had met as teenagers. As individuals, they were smart, sassy, and popular; as a group, they were every teacher's worst nightmare. They got into all sorts of trouble together and always escaped.

One night, when they snuck out to smoke near an old factory, a scientist who was experimenting illegally in said factory happened to blow up an experiment he'd been working on for weeks*. The resulting explosion bathed the five teens in a fusion of chemicals that gave them their powers. When they discovered what had happened, they decided to profit from their newfound abilities.

Because their names could double as the cards in a royal flush, they dubbed themselves the Royal Flush Gang. Kingston became King, a level 10 intellect and a brilliant engineer; Queenie evolved into Queen, a powerful telekinetic and the only girl among the five; Jack developed the ability to manipulate his mass to become extra dense or intangible; Tennyson took the name Ten, a young man with super strength that could almost rival Superman's; and their Ace gained the power of invisibility, which, coupled with his expert sneaking skills, made him the perfect spy.

Dressed in white suits with black spades, the Royal Flush Gang began committing crimes all over Midway, soon becoming the city's most feared villains. They'd had their eye on the museum since the beginning of their criminal career, and a golden opportunity like this was just too good to miss; so on Christmas Eve, all five Spades made their way to the Midway Museum.

"The alarm's on, but the door's unlocked – so once we disarm the alarm, we're golden." Ace rubbed his hands in glee and elbowed King. "Shouldn't be a problem for you, eh, King?"

"Let's not count our chickens before they hatch," said King, moving his fingers over a handheld touch-screen computer pad – one of his own inventions. "10th level intellect notwithstanding, Midway Museum still has one of the most up-to-date security systems in the nation." A soft beep echoed from inside the museum. King smiled. "But yes, it's not a problem for me."

Queen waved her hand lazily, causing the unlocked side door to click open. "Shall we?"

"We shall," Jack agreed. He was about to go in when a spiked mace crashed to the ground in front of him, causing him to jump three feet in the air. "What the hell?!"

"Shit," Ten swore, pointing at the winged silhouette in the sky. "It's that bird chick from the Justice League."

"What's she doing here?" Ace demanded. "Last I heard she was hanging out with that Flash dude in Central City."

"Talk later," Queen snapped. "Right now, we've got incoming."

"And," King added – he was already, inexplicably, a good five feet away – "I suggest you move – fast."

The Royal Flush Gang ducked and scattered out of the way as Hawkgirl dove towards them. She reclaimed her mace and tapped it in her palm, blocking the doorway as she smirked at them.

"Go on," she said. "I dare you."

"You're on," Jack agreed, running head-on towards her. Hawkgirl crouched into a defensive stance and shot out a hand to grab Jack's arm as he rushed past, but her fingers ended up groping at nothing as Jack went intangible, only to turn and slam into her just as he multiplied his density.

"Ow!" Hawkgirl seethed as she reached for her mace, only to have it whipped out of her grasp by Queen's telekinesis.

By this time Ten was in front of her, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. He was flanked on either side by Jack and Ace. King was sneaking through the door.

"No mace, Birdnose," Ten said snidely. "Whatcha gonna fight with?"

In response, Hawkgirl smashed her fist into his face. Ten grinned as her blow glanced off his thick skin, then caught both her arms in a crushing grip as Jack latched on to her waist from behind.

"You're in waaay over your head," he told her.

Hawkgirl's eyes narrowed under her helmet. Without warning, she brought her knee up into Ten's groin. As he released her arms with a howl of pain, she jerked her elbows backwards and inwards, catching Jack full on the face before he had time to phase. Now free, she spun around to take care of Ace, but he had vanished, along with King and Queen – and her mace.

Barely hesitating, Hawkgirl grabbed a bleeding Jack and flung him into Ten, who buckled under Jack's weight and crashed them both into a wall, knocking them out cold.

Hawkgirl wasted no time; she dashed into the museum through the open door. "Two down, three to go."

* * *

"You know, this thing is quite interesting," Queen commented, holding up Hawkgirl's mace as they crept through the museum. "I think I'll keep it."

Ace bounded along beside King. "So what are we hitting?"

King pointed at the glass display case up ahead. "That."

Inside the case, an ornate gold necklace with a single ruby stone embedded in it rested on a cushion of velvet.

"This necklace," said King, "belonged to Cleopatra. It's almost priceless."

"Gorgeous," Queen said appreciatively. "So how are we getting it out?"

"You're not."

They all turned to see Hawkgirl standing behind them.

"Oh, if you're looking for your teammates, they're outside waiting to be arrested," the Thanagarian said nonchalantly.

Queen sneered at her. "It's three on one, Birdie. You're outmatched – and I have your mace."

"Yeah, that reminds me…" Hawkgirl extended her arm, palm up and fingers splayed, and the mace drifted out of Queen's grasp and into her hand before the villainess could react. "Thanks."

"Keep her off me," King ordered as he bent over the display case and began working to get their prize.

"You got it," Ace agreed. He instantly became invisible as Queen lifted a potted plant and sent it flying at Hawkgirl. Hawkgirl dodged, and the pot broke against the ceiling, showering clods of earth everywhere. She was about to go for Queen when a pair of invisible hands wrapped around her neck.

Hawkgirl bucked and struggled, dropping her mace as she tried to loosen Ace's fingers. Estimating where his body was, she turned so that he was between herself and the second pot that Queen hurled at her. Ace dropped to the ground unconscious, turning visible again. Massaging her neck, Hawkgirl reached for her mace, but Queen had already claimed it and was holding tightly to it.

"I always learn from my mistakes." With her other hand, Queen caused a sword on display to unsheathe itself and shoot at Hawkgirl. The point of the blade speared the edge of the Thanagarian's wing before she could evade it. Queen smirked as Hawkgirl cried out in pain.

"Can't fly, no mace…" Queen gestured at King. "King's almost done…you're not winning this."

Hawkgirl ignored her, choosing instead to edge closer to the wall. With a smug expression, she flicked the switch off. Instantly, the room was plunged into darkness.

"Hey!" Queen cried. "King, I can't see!"

"You think I can?"

"_I_ can see," said Hawkgirl's voice from somewhere to the right. Before Queen knew it, the mace was snatched out of her hand. Hawkgirl powered it up, and the head of the mace was illuminated with electricity. "Goodnight." In two swift strokes, she'd knocked out both King and Queen.

* * *

"Thanks, Hawkgirl," the museum curator said gratefully as Midway police led away the Royal Flush Gang, who had all been fitted with collars that negated their powers.

"It wasn't a big deal," she responded, nursing her injured wing.

"Not a big deal?" repeated one of the officers in disbelief. "We've been trying to nab the Royal Flush Gang for months! It's a very big deal."

Hawkgirl shrugged. "If you say so. I just saw them sneaking in and knew what I had to do."

"You know," another detective put in, "Midway doesn't have a superhero – and you don't stay in any city long enough to call it your own."

"So?"

The detective shrugged. "I don't know – maybe you could stick around and be our protector, or something? We kinda need it – it's not just the Royal Flush Gang that causes trouble here."

"I'm perfectly happy being a wandering nomad."

"I'm sure you must be," he agreed. "It's an exciting life. But sometimes – especially at Christmas – it's nice to have a place to call home."

Hawkgirl looked thoughtful. "I see…"

The detective smiled a little. "Well, anyway – thanks again, and Merry Christmas." He and his partner got back into their squad car and drove away, followed by the curator.

Alone, Hawkgirl turned and gazed at the museum. She noted its solid structure, its strong support pillars, its flat roof, and its airy architecture that was all so much like the military barracks on Thanagar. And she smiled at the thought that something on Earth could have replicated something so Thanagarian.

"A place to call home indeed."

* * *

_**A/N: *Heads up: The way I wrote that makes it look like a mere throwaway line, but this Royal Flush Gang's origin will come into play on a bigger stage later.**_

_**TOMORROW: From a thieving group of villains, we move on to an organization that walks a **Grey** line.**  
_


	19. Grey

**_A/N: Thanks to my reviewers _**_Dextra2, __1Superman4Me, __Powerman911,_**_ and _**_leathman_**_! And I'm glad you like my Royal Flush Gang, because a long way from now, when Diamond Earth is solidly established, they're going to be the star villains in a story that will rock the Justice League to its core._  
**

**_However, for the moment, let's stay closer to home with a more secretive operation._**

* * *

**Grey**

"Gentlemen, thank you for meeting with me." Amanda Waller nodded at them from her seat at the head of the table.

"I hope you don't take too long, Amanda," said King Faraday. "It's Christmas morning, after all."

"Pah! Christmas," snorted General Wade Eiling. "Another excuse for the weak to pawn off those who have worked hard for their living and who actually deserve to have the things they want."

"Quite the Scrooge, aren't you, Eiling?" Farday commented dryly.

"Christmas belongs to the working man," said Eiling. "People who earn their own way and don't sit on their lazy asses all day hoping for handouts."

"Not all of us can find jobs to make ends meet, Eiling."

"Nonsense," the general scoffed. "There are plenty of jobs for everyone – people should learn to adapt to the available positions instead of holding out for something they think they should have."

"Now, Eiling –"

"If you don't mind, gentlemen," Waller said, "we need to discuss the progress for Project Shield."

"Shield?" Faraday questioned.

"Our defense against the Justice League," Waller explained. "Plans for the neutralization of each member on the team in case it becomes necessary. General Eiling is overseeing it."

"Oh?" Faraday cast Eiling a look that spoke volumes. Eiling's authority in Cadmus was second only to Waller's own, and he made no secret of his intense dislike for all metabeings, hero or villain. If he was overseeing a strategy meant to defend against the Justice League, you could be sure that if the League ever went rogue, they would have an extremely difficult time fighting Cadmus. But Faraday was a little wary of Eiling's militantly radical mindset, even if Waller saw nothing wrong with it.

"General?" questioned Waller. "How goes Project Shield?"

"Slowly." Eiling did not sound happy. "We have a foolproof defense plan against Superman only – the Kryptonite we secured three years ago. We know fire is a weakness of the Martian, and the Green Lantern is powerless without his ring – but we are still formulating methods to use those weaknesses against them."

"Any ideas?" Waller asked.

"As we know from experience, fire will incapacitate the Martian once we get close enough, but the anti-telepathy devices we commissioned from our technicians are still in the testing stages, so it is not yet a watertight defense. As for the Lantern, we're still looking for something to bind his will so he can't use his ring."

"The Lanterns' rings don't work as well against anything colored yellow," Faraday put in. Eiling nodded.

"Yes, we've thought of that – but this current Lantern's will is one of the strongest I've ever seen," he admitted grudgingly. "We'll need something more than the color yellow to get us close enough to remove his ring."

"Well, then, you'd have to undermine his will some way or another," said Waller. "Think of something. What about the others?"

Eiling scowled. "My researchers are looking through the historical archives from the '60s to create a working profile on Wonder Woman. She's just as strong as Superman, but, unlike him, she doesn't have a physical weakness to any object – so psychological warfare seems to be the only way to get to her. An arrow or bullet through the wing should be enough to bring down Hawkgirl, and we know Batman's identity, so he's the easiest one of all."

"And the Flash?"

Eiling's frown deepened. "We're still working on that one."

"Eiling, you do know that of all the heroes in the League, the Flash is the most unlikely to go rogue?" Faraday asked. "I mean, you've seen what he does."

"I see an egotistical young whippersnapper who thinks he can get all the ladies he wants just because he has super speed."

"Well, maybe he is that, a bit – but I'm talking about his general attitude. Of the entire Justice League, I'd fear him the least."

"You should fear him the most," Eiling said darkly. "He has the potential to be even more dangerous than Superman."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating…"

"Faraday, think about it. Flash is possibly even faster than Superman. How can you fight someone you can't even catch? And even supposing you're right about his moral alignment – what's to stop him from succumbing to mind-control or to another metahuman who can replicate his abilities?"

"This is all purely hypothetical, of course?" said Faraday. "We're not actually waging war against the Justice League – this is just a precaution in case they become villains."

"Of course," Waller said impatiently. "But Eiling's right – we need a surefire method of restraining Flash."

"Or we risk leaving the way wide open for metabeings to take over the world," Eiling finished.

"Well, if you're that worried," said Faraday, "to neutralize Flash, all we have to do is stop him from running."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Waller inquired.

Faraday shrugged. "A gravity field should do the trick – even the Fastest Man Alive can't run away if he weighs a ton."

Eiling actually smirked at that. "Well, Faraday, my respect for you has just gone up a notch. I'll get the scientists to formulate a working model."

Waller nodded. "Good. Get them on it right away."

"Wait a minute," Faraday interjected as Eiling took out his cell phone. "Amanda, it's Christmas Day."

"So?" Eiling retorted. "We're here, aren't we?"

"Surely the project can wait one day?" said Faraday. "Everyone in Cadmus has been working hard all year – they deserve at least one day off to celebrate with their families."

"Time and tide wait for no man," Eiling quoted. "What will you do if the Justice League goes on a rampage tomorrow?"

"Eiling," Waller reprimanded. Even _she _found his attitude a bit tiring at times. "King has a point. We're not slave-drivers."

"Amanda, as the leader of the Board of Directors, you need to stay firm."

"The chances of the League turning villainous overnight are slim to none," Waller said. "You've read their profiles – and their deeds speak for themselves."

"Are you saying you're giving Cadmus a day off?"

Waller shrugged. "It _is_ Christmas."

Eiling sniffed in disapproval. "Well, the final choice rests with you, of course – but I'm telling you that I think it's a mistake."

"Noted." Waller stood up. "Meeting adjourned. Happy holidays." Then she walked out, intending to make the most of her day off.

Amanda Waller walked a fine line in a grey area, but she did it because it was necessary and she was willing to do what she had to. But one day off from Cadmus wouldn't lead to Armageddon.

* * *

_**A/N: Who, me? Building tension for a Cadmus story arc?  
**_

_**Well, of course! ;)  
**_

_**TOMORROW: A quiet alien finds a sense of **Community** in his life as a human.**_


	20. Community

**_A/N: Thank you to my faithful reviewers _**_leathman, Dextra2,_**_ and _**_Powerman911_**_._  
**

**_Can you believe we only have eleven more chapters to go, not including this one?_**

* * *

**Community**

– _I think I'm going to –_

– _better call Ruthie –_

– _not ever gonna –_

– _Is this the right one? I thought he –_

Thoughts. They are the essential core of all sentient beings – the one thing that all live individuals hold. Thoughts are present in everyone's mind in some form or other, even in a newborn's instinctive needs, and they continue to run through everybody's head for the rest of their lives. The only time the thoughts stop is when one dies.

Thoughts are many things. Some thoughts are mundane, trivial – some thoughts are only important for a time, some thoughts last for years – and some thoughts have power.

Oh, the power thoughts could have. Thoughts were the driving force behind actions, the intent behind the event. Something innocuous could turn into the most hideous thing because the thought behind it was murderous; likewise, something sordid could become merciful if one understood the intent behind the act.

J'onn J'onzz was the last Martian, and he had seen firsthand the power of thoughts to initiate events of great magnitude. As a telepath, he was well-versed with the thoughts that could go through a person's head. However, today was Christmas Day, and humans were a strange species. The varying degrees of vastly different emotions that he was picking up confused him no end. He'd spent the whole of yesterday – Christmas Eve – trying to figure out what it was about this holiday that brought out such reactions from Earth's population, but he was no closer to finding the answer than he had been when he started his search.

– _Oh, Merry Christmas…–_

– _happy holidays –_

– _we pray and ask that You bless this food –_

He flew over the skyline of New York City – a skyline that had been changed so drastically last year with the fall of the Twin Towers – something that New York was still recovering from. J'onn could feel clearly the sorrow and horror that had not faded since 9/11 in the minds of everyone who passed by Ground Zero. The sight of the roped-off, debris-littered area saddened him as well, because he'd been there on that day and he'd witnessed the true horror of the attack firsthand, and because the sheer destructiveness of the strike and the War on Terrorism it had prompted from the U.S. government made him remember another war, hundreds of years ago, of which he was the sole survivor.

– _still can't believe –_

– _rest in peace, all you lost souls –_

– _God save us –_

There were other thoughts too, from the minds of those who had dedicated themselves to cleaning up the site. J'onn often found solace in these thoughts, because they were pure, virtuous in intent, and full of the same kindness and goodness that he appreciated in his Justice League teammates.

– _come on, let's get this –_

– _New York will be sparkling again –_

– _we're helping families get closure –_

– _this is my way of contributing –_

J'onn was the Martian Manhunter now, the guardian of New York City. For the past year, he had been aiding the cleanup efforts at Ground Zero whenever he could, but only ever as the Martian Manhunter, John Jones had never stepped foot within five miles of Ground Zero because he had never felt at ease with humans when he was a human himself. It was inordinately strange, but he felt more comfortable in his hybrid form among humans – maybe because he didn't have to hide whatever emotions he felt at the thoughts he happened to pick up – at least not so much.

J'onn had been trying to understand Earthlings since he first arrived here almost three years ago. The first humans he'd encountered had trapped him and brought him forcibly back to Earth. Of the next two people he'd met on this planet, one wasn't even human and the other could hardly be considered average. He'd gone on to meet others, people from all walks of life, with their own thoughts and intentions – but for all that, he still had yet to find one person who could make him feel at ease as a human himself. He had not encountered even a single soul who made him feel that John Jones belonged here.

J'onn was about to continue his patrol through the city when his telepathy unexpectedly tuned in – as it sometimes did when a person's thoughts spoke to him on some level – to the mind of someone who was at Ground Zero right now.

_– It's Christmas. Christmas is a time for giving and helping. I'm here because I want to help, and I want to give my time, if only to make this better –_

The man's sincere wish to help on a day most people spent celebrating gave J'onn pause. Of all the thoughts he had heard today, it was this man's that had held the most virtuous intent. Everyone had been talking of the 'spirit of Christmas', but their idea of the Christmas spirit was different from J'onn's, and this man's thought was the one that had truly struck a chord with the last Martian.

After a moment of thought _(there's that word again)_, J'onn landed in a secluded corner and assumed his human identity. Today John Jones would take J'onn J'onzz's place as the Martian Manhunter.

* * *

Four hours later, John sat with five other men who had volunteered to finish the cleanup of Ground Zero during Christmas. After a morning of solid work, they were all sweaty, tired, and grubby, but there was a sense of contentment in knowing they had come together for such a noble purpose as well. It was sadder than anything they could imagine, clearing debris off what had once been the World Trade Center – but it felt good to know that ordinary men like them could do something for the city. And they had just finished the monumental task that had taken more than a year – Ground Zero was now completely cleaned up, bare where once there was debris.

Now on break, the men were passing around snacks and drinks. One of them, Larkin, offered an open blue packet to John.

"Want one?"

John peered at the row of cream-filled chocolate cookies inside the packet. "What are these?" he inquired.

The other man laughed. "You've never heard of Oreos before?"

When John mutely shook his head, Larkin stared at him.

"Seriously?" he said. "Well, there's always a first time." He waved the packet in John's face. "Take one. I guarantee you'll like 'em."

John obligingly dipped his hand in and withdrew a cookie, and Larkin passed the Oreo packet around the rest of the group.

Yes, John Jones had finally found his place in humanity. And, as he bit into the Oreo, he knew he had also found a favorite food.

* * *

**_A/N: Yeah, I know - in the real world, cleanup of Ground Zero was completed by May 2002. However, let's pretend that in Diamond Earth, they took several months longer._**

**_TOMORROW: An old man's musings give new meaning to the phrase, '_**_Like Father, Like Son_**_'.  
_**


	21. Like Father, Like Son

**_A/N: So, this is the day the world supposedly ends. Excuse me if I'm carrying on with my life as usual, eh? XD_  
**

**_Thanks to _**_Dextra2_**_ and _**_leathman_**_ for reviewing last chapter._**

* * *

**Like Father, Like Son**

Alfred Pennyworth watches the young, dark-haired boy peering curiously at the finely wrapped presents under the tree, and he is reminded of how another boy, much younger than this one, had once done the same.

Young Jason Todd was a streetwise orphan aged just ten years old when Alfred caught him in the act of trying to steal the Batmobile's tires. Jason passed his eleventh birthday in Wayne Manor, as Alfred hopes he will pass many more. The sagacious butler knows that part of the reason Bruce took in the stubborn orphan is because Jason reminds him of Dick – but Alfred thinks the newest addition to the Batclan is more like Bruce than Bruce realizes.

Jason met Bruce as Batman first, so when Bruce decided to adopt him and bring him to Wayne Manor, it was impossible for the boy not to realize who Batman was. And after seeing Dick's old Robin suit in its glass case in the Batcave, he had eagerly asked whether he could become Robin. Bruce had taken a while to warm to the idea, but three months of constant badgering on Jason's part finally wore him down. Jason began training under Batman in mid-October, and went on his first patrol with the Dark Knight in November. The new Robin is quickly showing signs of being every bit as skilled as his predecessor – much like Bruce had been a fast learner of the numerous disciplines he had been trained in. Jason is not yet allowed out alone, but it is clear that he is fast becoming a valuable addition to the Batclan.

Alfred is Bruce Wayne's butler, but he is also so much more than that. Alfred is Batman's confidante, friend, and Bruce Wayne's second father. He sees Bruce as his own son, and Dick, Barbara, and now Jason as his grandchildren. He has been with Bruce since the very beginning, and he watches everything. It's been a journey that has not always been smooth, or pleasant, and there were times when he believed it simply wasn't worth it – but through it all, his faith in Bruce has never wavered.

Alfred is the only person in the world who has seen every side of Bruce Wayne – from the earnest, curious little boy who delighted in Christmas every year to the angry, bitter teenager who refused to put up a tree, to the broody, determined young man who spent years training himself to the peak of physical perfection, and finally, to the experienced, intelligent detective hero he is now. Most unfortunately, the innocence and trust of Bruce's earliest incarnation disappeared the moment the eight-year-old boy watched his parents being murdered, never to return. Alfred is glad, though, that at least some of the real Bruce Wayne – not the playboy image he crafts or the lethally ruthless figure he cultivates as Batman, but the kind and caring soul that is buried somewhere under the layers of identity – is beginning to show through the protective wall he has erected around himself.

Dick had the misfortune to be the first Bruce ever let in. At that point in his life, Bruce was barely beginning to mellow out from the hard shell he was, with the result that he was much harsher on Dick than he is on Jason. Barbara joined their little family not long after, but she didn't live with Bruce, and she, having Commissioner Gordon as her father, was able to understand to a certain extent why Bruce acted the way he did. Dick never had the benefit of that insight, and he grew resentful of his mentor's distant manner. Alfred knows Bruce cared then, and still does – but the best they can hope for is for Dick to accept what Bruce did and move on. Hopefully, in the time to come, the two ex-partners will eventually grow to be friends.

With Jason, however, Bruce has learned something of parenting. The way he'd handled the youngster that night in July – with a firm but gentle lecture – fills Alfred with pride. The boy he raised has become a man; the son is becoming the father.

And Bruce is like his father, in many ways. Alfred can see Thomas Wayne's shrewd business sense in the way Bruce pretends to be the silly playboy CEO when he deals with WayneTech's competitors, yet still manages to bring WayneTech out on top; his generosity in the research Bruce does to find the most deserving charities to donate to; his intelligence in Bruce's brilliant detective mind. And Bruce has held on to all the things Alfred taught him about being a good man, which is all the old butler has ever wished for.

Now Bruce is a father himself. Maybe not biologically, but as Alfred knows, that's the least of what makes one a father. Lord knows he and Bruce don't have a hint of shared blood between them – but that doesn't make the slightest bit of difference. Bruce has been Dick's father since the latter was nine years old (even if Dick is feeling too angry to admit it right now) and in time, he will become Jason's father as well. Jason will benefit from Bruce's tutelage, just as Dick and Barbara did – perhaps even more so, because Bruce has become a better teacher. And Alfred will make sure that the boy receives the emotional support he needs even if Bruce is still unable to provide that, just as he did for Dick. In this way, Bruce becomes more than just the Batman, and Alfred becomes more than just a butler.

Bruce has learned to relax enough that he stayed for Christmas Eve dinner with Alfred and Jason before he took to the streets for his nightly patrol. But even this patrol is different, seeing how it involves a bottle of bourbon for Harvey Dent, whom Bruce hopes will resurface tonight. Alfred hopes so too – he remembers the days when Batman, Dent, and Commissioner Gordon made an unstoppable team. Bruce thinks he doesn't know what he intends to do tonight, but Alfred has been watching, as he has been for years. He knows. Oh, yes, there are so many things Alfred knows. One of them is something even Bruce has never figured out: how Alfred always knows when he returns and is always ready for him, no matter what time it is.

Alfred allows himself a small smile as he glances at the grandfather clock that hides the entrance to the Batcave. When the heavy pendulum is unhooked, the hidden door slides open. Bruce believes that is the only secret the clock holds, but Thomas Wayne discovered the cavern under his mansion not long before his death. Thinking it could be useful as a place for storing important documents and objects, he created several mechanisms for it before he died – all of which Alfred was privy to. Therefore, Alfred is aware that whenever a weight crosses a pressure point in the cave floor (as the Batmobile does whenever Batman comes home), the clock chimes once, in a decidedly different tone from its usual peals. Alfred is a light sleeper, and when Bruce started Batman activities the butler insisted on moving his room to the one across the hall, so he always hears and awakes at the chime that signals Bruce's arrival, and comes to the Batcave with a tray of food and a first-aid kit seven minutes later without fail, like (pardon the pun) clockwork.

He will be waiting tonight, as usual. When the clock chimes, Alfred will be up and dressed to attend to whatever Bruce needs. Bruce will be expecting him, as always, and the tray and kit will be resting on the table in his room, ready for pickup. Alfred, like Bruce, is always prepared.

Like father, like son.

* * *

_**A/N: Alfred is awesome. Enough said.**_

_**So, like I mentioned above, the world is supposed to end today - but I don't believe that for a second, so...  
**_

_**TOMORROW: With a title like **Ocean Depths**, you should be able to guess who's showing up tomorrow - but you will not be expecting the storyline not-so-hidden in the chapter.  
**_


	22. Ocean Depths

**_A/N: Hey, check it out! We're all still alive! XD In celebration of our continued existence (and also because I might not be able to post later), this chapter is coming early. 'Course, this is a bit of a depressing chapter (not to mention mysterious), but still..._  
**

**_Thanks to _**_leathman, Dextra2,_**_ and _**_1Superman4Me_**_ for reviewing._**

* * *

**Ocean Depths**

The night was dark, cold, and stormy over the North Atlantic Ocean, as the winds whipped the blue-green waves into roiling peaks and undulating valleys. Far beneath the troubled surface, though, calm reigned and order ruled in the peace that only the depth of the ocean can provide. A glowing undersea light illuminated the two figures, a male and a female, standing next to each other on the ocean floor.

"Stay," the girl said pleadingly. "Please."

The boy, almost a man, reached out and tucked her brown hair behind her ear. "You know I can't."

"It's not fair," she cried. "It shouldn't be you."

"My being here puts you all at risk," he told her. "I cannot stay. I have to leave."

"And where will you go?" she demanded. "If they tracked you here, to Atlantis, years after you were hidden, they'll track you anywhere under the sea."

He smiled grimly. "I won't _be _under the sea."

She froze, and stared at him. "You're going to the surface?" she said disbelievingly. "You can't be serious!"

"I'm dead serious," he responded.

She winced.

"Wrong choice of words, perhaps." He continued, in a gentler tone, "I'll be fine."

Her face was a mix of emotions – anger, worry, anxiety, sorrow – but her eyes held longing. "But if you leave the ocean, when will I ever see you again?"

His answer was immediate, but heavy. "You won't."

Anguish twisted her features. "Garth!" she protested. "Please! You can stay – we'll fight them off when they come; refuse to let them take you…"

"At the cost of destroying Atlantis?" he questioned. "Because that's what will happen."

"We'll think of something!"

"Tula, this is the only way." His voice betrayed none of the distress his heart was feeling. "Arthur agrees."

Her lip trembled. "But it's not fair!"

Sorrowfully, he gathered her in his arms and held her close. "I know." The crease between his eyebrows proved his pain. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I am what I am, that I have the curse of purple eyes, that my birth should have never been. I'm sorry that I have to tear myself away from the lives of those I care about. I'm sorry I have to leave you. But this is the only way you'll be safe."

He held her at arm's length so he could look into her eyes. "Listen to me," he ordered, and there was grief in his voice now. "When I leave, you're free."

"No," she disagreed, shaking her head.

"Tula," he said firmly. "After I go, I want you to move on."

"Garth…"

"Find someone to love you, someone who'll take care of you."

"By Poseidon, Garth!" she swore. "I won't love another but you!"

"Teach yourself to," he insisted. "I don't want you to be alone."

"There is no one whom I would –"

"Kaldur."

"What?"

"Kaldur cares for you as well, Tula," he explained. "And you love him too."

"As a brother!" she exclaimed. "I love Kaldur as a _brother_!"

"Then you can learn to love him as a lover."

She shook her head violently, stubbornly. "I will not!"

"Tula." His eyes shone with true pain. "I'm begging you. If I have to leave, there is no one I'd rather to care for you than my best friend. Kaldur can make you happy, if you'll let him."

She had to fumble for words. "Even if I do, I won't be able to forget you."

"Nor do I expect you to." He smiled sadly as he brushed her cheek. "Just as I will not forget you. I have been happier than I have ever been in these years with you, Tula. But now we must part, and be with each other only in memory."

"Garth…" She clung to him, tears streaming down her face. "I love you."

"I love you too." He placed a last, lingering kiss on her lips. "Goodbye, Tula."

It was a long time before she managed to respond. "Goodbye, Garth."

She stood watching him swim away, beyond the reach of the light, and it was all she could do not to swim after him. When she could no longer see him, she fell to the seabed and wept for the love she could not have.

* * *

_**A/N: Explanation: Garth, in the comics, was the prince and heir of an underwater kingdom made of a branch of Atlanteans known as Idyllists. Before Garth was born, his uncle, Zath, tried to use necromancy and sorcery to seize the throne from King Thar with an undead army. Thar was able to stop him by trapping him in an otherworldly dimension, but this spell was linked to a magical ritual that would give any of Thar's descendants great powers. The Idyllist radicals therefore sent out word that any child born with purple eyes - the Idyllist mark of power - should be found and killed in order to prevent them from performing the ritual and accidentally releasing Zath (now called Slizzath). The baby Garth was saved from death possibly through the actions of Atlan, Arthur's (Aquaman's) father, and he eventually made his way to Atlantis. **_

_**In Diamond Earth, Garth's mother sought refuge in Atlantis after Slizzath's attack on her kingdom, and when Garth was born he was protected by both King Atlan and the teenage Arthur. The Idyllists are still intending to kill any purple-eyed child, and they've now tracked Garth to Atlantis.**_

_**And yes, yes indeed, that IS a reference to Kaldur'ahm from **Young Justice**. Diamond Earth has characters from the Justice League, Teen Titans, Outsiders...and now Young Justice is creeping in too.  
**_

_**TOMORROW: Let us all wish **God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen** to two U.S. Marines as they celebrate Christmas away from home.  
**_


	23. God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen

**_A/N: What up, people? You all getting into the Christmas mood yet? Here's something to help you along, but first...thanks to _**_leathman, Powerman911, Dextra2,_**_ and _**_1Superman4Me_**_ for reviewing!_**

**_Yes, Diamond Earth is a big universe :) And these two characters ought to be plenty familiar as well...  
_**

* * *

**God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen**

"_God rest ye merry, gentlemen…"_

Two metal mugs of watered-down ale knocked against each other with a brassy ping before they were brought up to the lips of their owners. Both men drank deeply, relishing the warm liquid even as they wished for something tastier.

_"Let nothing you dismay…"_

"Not too shabby," Rex Mason noted as he stared into his cup. His companion merely grunted. "Come on, John – it isn't that bad. And you gotta give the boys credit for rustling up some sort of drink."

_"Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day…"_

John Stewart set his half-empty mug down on the ground and rubbed his hands together. "I hate the cold."

_"To save us all from Satan's power while we were gone astray…"_

"Yeah, you're a rather 'warm-climate' kind of guy – that temper of yours sure testifies to that," Rex joked.

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy…"_

"Doesn't Detroit have pretty cold winters, though?"

John cracked a smile. "I told you I was thinking of moving to Florida."

_"Comfort and joy…"_

"You mean, after our tour ends?"

"Maybe."

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy."_

"John."

"Yeah?"

"Why'd you sign up for the Marines?"

_"In Bethlehem, in Israel…"_

John paused, thoughtful. "I always had a sense of responsibility growing up," he explained. "After my dad died, I took care of my mom and my little brother. I guess that responsibility evolved into something else, something that made me want to do more."

_"This blessed Babe was born…"_

"What about you?"

"Oh, me?" Rex grinned. "I wanted some adventure."

_"And laid within a manger upon this blessed morn…"_

"There are less dangerous adventures to go on than a military assignment in Afghanistan," John pointed out.

"True," Rex conceded, "but there's just something about being a U.S. Marine, you know?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I know."

_"The which his Mother Mary did nothing take in scorn…"_

They gazed out at the harsh wintery landscape of the most dangerous country on Earth, two out of several Marines who had opted not to join the large circle their comrades had made around the main campfire.

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy…"_

"First Christmas here?" Rex queried.

John shook his head. "Second."

_"Comfort and joy…"_

"Damn, man, didn't you apply for two-week leave or something?"

"Nope. Saved it for summer so I could go back for longer when James was on vacation."

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy."_

"Your brother's name is James?" Rex laughed. "Your mother must have been quoting straight out of the Bible when she named you."

"Actually, my dad named us. And he said he named us like that because 'John' and 'James' were good, strong, sensible names."

_"From God our Heavenly Father…"_

"Your dad must have been a sensible guy."

"He was about as straight as a toothpick," John agreed.

_"A blessed Angel came…"_

"What about you?" John asked. "This your first Christmas in Afghanistan?"

"Yep," Rex replied. "I finish my service in March, so I figured there was no point taking off."

"You gonna come back?"

"Don't know yet. Depends on whether I get the guts to pop the question."

_"And unto certain shepherds brought tidings of the same…"_

"Oh?" John raised an eyebrow. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"Sapphire Stagg."

The eyebrow rose higher. "Simon Stagg's daughter?"

"The same."

_"How that in Bethlehem was born the Son of God by Name…"_

"Been with her long?"

"'Bout a year," answered Rex. "But I know she's the one."

"How?"

Rex chuckled. "She damn near went into hysterics when I told her I enlisted."

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy…"_

John laughed. "She went into hysterics? _That's _how you know you want to marry her?"

"It shows she cares for me, a _lot_."

"You are one strange fellow."

_"Comfort and joy…"_

Rex dipped his head. "All right, all right – so she makes me feel like I'd rather die than watch her marry someone else – so sue me. I didn't want to sound like some sad romantic sap. I'm a Marine, for crying out loud."

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy."_

John's chortles subsided. "So you're really thinking of proposing?"

"I think so, yeah. First I gotta get out of here in one piece, though."

_"'Fear not, then,' said the Angel…"_

"Don't worry – I'll make sure you live," John promised.

"Same here, buddy, same here," Rex agreed. "I've got your back."

_"'Let nothing you affright…"_

Neither man spared a second thought for the fact that they'd only met a month ago. A group of Marines in Afghanistan could quickly form the strongest of bonds, and one would willingly die for the others in his team without even knowing them that well.

_"This day is born a Savior of a pure Virgin bright…"_

"What about you, John?" Rex asked. "Got a lady love back home?"

"Nope. Just my family and a few close friends."

_"To free all those who trust in him from Satan's power and might'…"_

"What would you like to do, John? I mean, after your service? Any plans for the future?"

"A few," John confessed. "I think I'd like to marry eventually, if I can find the right girl."

"Kids?"

"Let me get back to you on that."

They both laughed.

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy…"_

"It's scary to think I'm actually getting used to it here," Rex commented, tone more serious than before. "It feels weird whenever a day passes, and we _don't _have to shoot our guns, or rescue civilians, or whatever. I've only been here three months!"

"Rex, I've been here almost two years – excluding my summer break – and let me tell you, I'm still not used to it."

_"Comfort and joy…"_

"You and I are different, pal."

"Good point," John conceded.

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy."_

Rex looked over at the circle of Marines around the campfire; a few more people had joined the group and were now singing along to the carol.

_"The shepherds at those tidings…"_

"They're still at it?" John inquired.

"Yep." Rex shook his head. "I never knew this song _had _that many verses – this must be number four, or something."

_"Rejoiced much in mind…"_

"Five," John corrected.

"You don't say? And here I thought _God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen _only had three verses."

_"And left their flocks a-feeding in tempest, storm, and wind…"_

"Actually," said John, "it has seven verses total in the original lyrics. People just shortened it to three for convenience."

"What the heck?" Rex exclaimed.

_"And went to Bethlehem straightway, the Son of God to find…"_

"And those guys over there actually _remember _every word?"

"Not all of them. Look – after the second or third verse, only Bobbins, Kiery, Matterson, and Ebert are actually singing the words." John pointed them out. "The others just hum along and join in the chorus."

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy…"_

"Huh," said Rex, noting how the volume of the melody got noticeably louder at the first line of the song's refrain. "Well, I guess with those four leading the rest, they'll be singing carols till dawn. Bobbins seems to know all the words to every Christmas song ever written, Kiery and Matterson are almost as bad, and Ebert has a fantastic ability to memorize lyrics seconds after he's heard them for the first time."

_"Comfort and joy…"_

"But seriously, doesn't it get repetitive after a while?"

John shrugged. "Repetitive or not, it's a little piece of home."

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy."_

Rex winked at John. "And in three…two…one…"

_"And when they came to Bethlehem…"_

"Right on cue." Rex chuckled. "They've got their timing down pat, even if there's no music to speak of."

"It's a simple song, Rex," John pointed out.

_"Where our dear Savior lay…"_

"Sapphire and I sang carols last Christmas," Rex mused. "It was fun."

"Makes you want to be back home, doesn't it?"

"More than ever."

_"They found him in a manger, where oxen feed on hay…"_

"What time would it be back in the States?" Rex asked suddenly.

John glanced at his watch. "Which time zone?"

"Central."

"About twelve-thirty in the afternoon."

_"His Mother Mary kneeling down, unto the Lord did pray…"_

"Why?" John questioned, as Rex closed his eyes.

"I'm trying to imagine what Sapphire would be doing now."

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy…"_

"Is it helping any?"

"A little."

_"Comfort and joy…"_

Rex opened his eyes. "Do you miss your family, John?"

"Every day."

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy."_

"How do you cope not being with them at Christmas?"

"I just remind myself that every day that passes is one closer to the day I get to go back and see them."

_"Now to the Lord sing praises…"_

"I'll have to remember that." Rex peered at his forgotten mug of ale – it had cooled off in the cold air. He shrugged as he picked it up. "Always liked it better cold, anyway."

_"All you within this place…"_

"What shall we drink to?" Rex asked, as John retrieved his own cup.

John smiled. "To one day closer to going home."

Rex smiled back. "I like that idea. One day closer to going home."

They chinked their metal cups together and drank the remainder of their ale.

_"And with true love and brotherhood each other now embrace…"_

"Last verse," said John. "Shall we join them?"

"Might as well," Rex agreed. I'm getting cold, anyway."

_"This holy tide of Christmas all other doth deface…"_

They both made their way to the fire, along with the only other two Marines who had yet to join the circle, just in time to raise their voices for the last chorus.

_"Oh, tidings of comfort and joy  
Comfort and joy  
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy."_

* * *

_**A/N: With that, we have the final member of the Outsiders joining the crew, as well as another potential Green Lantern XD**  
_

_**TOMORROW: The Diamond Earth universe gets even bigger with the addition of a pair of brothers who sometimes have trouble **Seeing Double**.  
**_


	24. Seeing Double

**_A/N: It's Christmas Eve, people! Hope you're all having a lovely time! I know I am! Thanks to _**_Dextra2_**_ and _**_lea__thman_**_ for reviewing, and here are two brothers trying to make their December 24 a proper Christmas Eve._**

* * *

**Seeing Double**

Twenty-year-old Henry Hall flipped lazily through his wall calendar, trying to find the square where he'd scribbled the phone number of a girl in his engineering class, when his eyes fell upon a date on the second-to-last page.

"Aw, crap…"

* * *

The soft tinkle of Donald Hall's phone broke his concentration on a recent edition of _The Ego and the Id_, by Sigmund Freud. Hastily scrabbling in his pocket for his phone so its continued ringing would not disturb the peace of the library, he answered.

"Hello?"

_"Don, where are you?"_

"I'm at the library."

Over the line, Hank snorted. _"Well, that explains why you're whispering."_

"Hank," Don said patiently. "I'm studying. What do you want?"

_"Do you know what day it is?"_

Don frowned slightly. "Uh, sure…it's, um…" He mentally ran through dates in his mind with a growing sense of horror. "Oh, no."

_"'Oh, no' is right," _Hank agreed. _"Get your butt to the car pronto, Don – we've got to go tree-hunting."_

* * *

Hank was waiting and had already started the engine of their shared 1999 Ford Mustang by the time his brother arrived at the garage.

"I can't believe we forgot," Don said as he slid into the passenger seat.

"Well, _I _said I wanted to get the tree last week, but _you _were so busy studying and _you _said it could wait…"

"Traditionally, Christmas trees are only put up on Christmas Eve," Don pointed out. "And superstitious people believe it's bad luck to put it up before that."

"We're the living representations of Chaos and Order," Hank countered. "We're not traditional or superstitious, and I, for one, have better things to do at six in the evening on Christmas Eve."

"I did tell you to remind me yesterday," Don informed him.

"When did you ever say that?"

"When you asked me about getting a tree last week. I was busy, I said we couldn't go then, but I told you to remind me on the 23rd so we wouldn't get caught in the last-minute rush."

"No, you didn't," Hank denied.

"I most definitely did," insisted Don. "But you forgot."

"So did you!"

"Hank."

"What?"

"Are you going to start the car?"

Muttering under his breath, Hank turned the key in the ignition.

* * *

"All right, where shall we go first?" Hank asked as they drove through the city. "Layton's Tree Farm?"

"They might not have any left this late," Don replied.

"Nonsense," said Hank. "I'm sure they'll have at least one."

"Let me rephrase: they might not have any left they're willing to sell. Tree farms usually keep a few young trees to grow for the next year."

"So?" Hank retorted. "We can _make _them willing to sell."

"Hank," Don said reprovingly.

"You know I'm right."

"No, you're not. I keep telling you, negotiation is the key to –"

"World peace, blah, blah, blah." Hank pulled over beside a large, fenced-in area behind a sign that said, 'LAYTON'S TREE FARM'. "So you've said. Lucky for us, we're not trying to achieve world peace – just get a Christmas tree."

* * *

Mr. Layton shook his head. "I'm sorry, but all the trees we have are young – we're saving them for next year."

"Look, we just need one," Hank said.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Layton said again, "but we're out of this year's stock. In any case, if you wanted a tree, you should have come earlier. You might have better luck elsewhere – but you'd be hard-pressed to get a tree this late in the day."

"All right, Mister, listen," said Hank, getting aggressive. "We need a tree. We don't care if it's young – we'll pay you for it and take it back. But we _need _a tree, and you're going to sell us one."

Mr. Layton looked affronted. "I most certainly will not. Especially not with that belligerent attitude. Good day, gentlemen." Stiffly, he walked away. Hank was on the verge of going after him, but Don pulled him back.

"We're not getting a tree here," he told him. "Let's try somewhere else." He added reproachfully, "And this time, let _me _do the talking."

* * *

"One hundred dollars."

Don frowned. "I don't know," he said slowly. "That seems a little steep for a Douglas-fir."

The tree dealer he was talking to shrugged. "You said you needed a tree, right? This is the only one I've got left. Take it or leave it."

"Very well." Don sighed, pulling out his wallet. "I suppose it's – Hank!"

For Hank had just whipped his wallet out of his hand. "Sorry, dude," he said to the dealer, "but I think we'll take our business elsewhere. See ya." He turned Don around and steered him back towards their car.

"Hank!" Don protested.

"Donny, come on," said Hank. "One hundred dollars? That's a rip-off! Usual price for a Christmas tree is about sixty bucks, and you know it."

Don huffed as he strapped himself into his seat. "Like you said, Hank, we need a tree, and I was trying to avoid conflict."

"Uh-huh – and Mr. Take-It-Or-Leave-It over there knew it, so he tried to con you out of several more bucks." Hank shook his head. "Without me, you'd have forked over a hundred for a five-foot Douglas-fir just to 'avoid conflict'."

"At least I got further than you did with Mr. Layton," Don retorted. "Demanding that people sell us Christmas trees is not going to get us anywhere."

"Nor is rolling over for the first guy who offers us a tree for an exorbitant price," Hank returned.

A sudden gunshot from two streets over made them both jump.

"You've got to be kidding me…" Don muttered.

"All right!" Hank clapped his right fist against his left palm, gleeful. "Let's go pound some bad guys."

* * *

"Don't anybody move!" The masked man, clad all in black, had his gun pointing to the sky. "Or my buddies here will put a bullet through your heads." His voice turned chilling. "Put another way," he summarized, "anyone who moves gets their brains splattered over the street."

"Interesting visual, Butch Cassidy," remarked Hawk from the opposite end of the street, his red-and-white costume contrasting with the blue of Dove's. "Thanks for giving me the idea."

The aggressive avian hero curled his fingers into a fist and charged at the robber, while Dove found himself face-to-face with another crook.

"Let's just be reasonable about this," the pacifist persuaded as the two circled around each other. "We can talk this over like civilized people – there's no need for a fist-fight." From behind him, he could hear Hawk's punches smacking soundly into unsuspecting flesh.

It was hard to tell, what with the ski mask – but Dove noticed that his opponent didn't seem very interested in his olive branch.

"Please?" he tried.

No deal. The other man lunged; Dove easily sidestepped and used his attacker's momentum to push him to the ground. Almost immediately, another robber pounced on him. Dove rolled with his punches and executed sinuous, graceful moves as he fought.

Meanwhile, Hawk had not a thought or a care for grace or subtlety. His movements were direct and mighty, driven by the power in his rippling muscles as he plowed through the black-clothed criminals. Whereas Dove was a flowing river that brought his attackers down with the fluidity of a pre-existing force, Hawk was like a lawnmower slicing through grass.

Within minutes, it was over. Hawk and Dove, the brothers of Chaos and Order, had defeated all eleven of the robbers. When they heard police sirens, they ducked into the next street, already beginning to transform back into themselves now that the danger had passed.

"How long did that take?" Hank asked.

Don checked his watch. "About five minutes."

Hank grinned as they reached their car. "I love fights like that."

Don simply rolled his eyes as Hank revved the engine and drove on. They'd stopped a robbery and prevented people from getting hurt, but it was seven o' clock at night on Christmas Eve, and they still had no tree.

* * *

"D'you wanna try taking one from the woods?"

Hank's question came after their fifth stop with no success. It simply wasn't working out; most tree farms had sold all their trees by now. At the few they'd visited that hadn't, either Hank got on their wrong side with his aggressive attitude, or Don was too meek for them to take him seriously.

Don turned in his seat to stare incredulously at his brother. "Do you _want _to get arrested, Hank? Felling trees without a license is illegal."

"It was just a thought," Hank mumbled. "This is ridiculous!" he exclaimed, banging his hand against the steering wheel. "How hard can it be to get a bloody tree?!"

Don sighed. "Sorry."

Hank paused, taken aback. "For what?"

"For putting off this whole getting a tree business. You're right – we should've done it earlier."

"Forget about it, Don – I should have remembered to remind you, like you told me to."

"Guess we both messed up on this one." Don smiled ruefully. "Truce?"

"Truce," Hank agreed. "And I think I finally see our tree."

"Where?" Don inquired, looking around.

Hank lifted one hand from the steering wheel and pointed. "Right there."

* * *

An hour later, the slender, green, artificial Christmas tree stood in the corner of their college dorm, gold lights twinkling around it and favored ornaments from a storage box hanging on its plastic branches. The Hall brothers studied it from the small dining table as they ate a late dinner of turkey stew.

"Doesn't look half bad, does it?" Hank said finally.

"No, it doesn't," Don agreed. "And, in retrospect, this was the smartest thing we could have done."

"Yeah? How so?"

"We won't have to go looking for a Christmas tree for the rest of our time in college. This fake tree will still be around, good as new, for the next three Christmases."

"Huh," Hank commented. "You're right." He glanced speculatively at his brother, then reached out and deliberately ruffled his hair, disrupting his carefully combed blond locks.

"Hey!" Don protested, swatting Hank's hand away. "Quit it!"

Hank smiled. "Merry Christmas, little brother."

Don's expression softened as he smiled back. "Merry Christmas, Hank."

They were opposites, they had their differences – they probably always would – but they were brothers. Don raised his Coke can (they were still under legal drinking age).

"To brothers?" he proposed.

Hank tapped his can against Don's. "To brothers."

* * *

_**A/N: Don't you just love these two? Different as night and day, but still care so deeply for each other.**_

_**Reviews would make an awesome Christmas present for me! :D  
**_

_**TOMORROW: It's Christmas Day and our favorite speedster is hell-bent on making it a **Memorable** one. Yep, the final Justice League founder is finally making his appearance.  
**_


	25. Memorable

**_A/N: Merry Christmas, everybody! Thanks to _**_leathman_**_ and _**_Dextra2_**_ for reviewing! (By the way, what happened to my other reviewers? Too busy on Christmas?)_  
**

**_I deliberately saved Flash's chapter for Christmas Day because I love him so much XD_**

* * *

**Memorable**

It was a red blur that zipped into the Keystone City Orphanage that morning. The children of said orphanage smiled brilliantly and passed the word around almost as fast as their visitor himself. Within seconds, every boy and girl within the building had flocked to the common room to see the Flash, Central and Keystone's resident superhero, and frequent caller at the Keystone Orphanage.

The Scarlet Speedster stood in the middle of the room, wearing his usual red costume and trademark happy grin as he patted heads, exchanged jokes, and gave out high-fives.

"Morning, kids," he said brightly. "How are you all on this fine Christmas morning? All okay?"

They responded in the affirmative, and he smiled.

"Okay, next question." Flash cleared his throat and adopted a solemn expression as he stood straight. His voice was ominous as he inquired, "Have you all been good?"

Again, they answered positively, with more energy than before. Flash's mock serious face broke out in a genuine smile.

"Well, in that case…" He zipped out of the room and was back before they could blink, holding a gunny sack half full of something. The children oohed and aahed, well used to this routine but always in wonder of whatever Flash brought them.

"What's our present this time, Flash?" one little boy, Jimmy White, enquired excitedly.

Flash set the sack down and untied it. "Have a look-see," he invited.

The children crowded round and exclaimed happily to see the colorful bouncy balls nestled inside. It was a veritable sea of spheres, in a whole range of vibrant colors. To their utmost delight, Flash had personalized each one with his symbol – a lightning bolt within a circle.

"Everybody take one," said Flash. They responded with enthusiasm, and he smiled to see them rummage around the sack for their favorite color; most of them immediately tested out their present by bouncing it somewhere.

A warmth that came only from the most poignant of moments bubbled up within Flash. Small baubles like this year's bouncing balls or last year's spinning tops were all he could afford on his beginner forensic investigator's salary if he wanted to get something for all the kids – but no matter how cheap or simple, he always took the time to personalize each and every one of them, and they always loved it. In fact, last year, the children had actually taken him to their rooms to show him where they proudly kept every single gift they'd received from him, all sitting pristine and perfect with their lightning insignias displayed prominently. It had touched Flash deeply, and he'd been hard-pressed not to tear up and ruin his manly image in front of the kids.

This was the reason he visited the orphanage every year. Of course, he dropped by frequently, but Christmas was always special. This was what reminded him why he was a hero – the pure joy and affection on the kids' faces spurred him on to make the world a better place for them to grow up and live their lives to the fullest. These kids deserved the best, and he tried his hardest to make sure they got it. He'd come here so often he knew every child by name.

The Christmas ritual was a sacred one. Flash would come in the morning (unless he was held up by one of his Rogues, which was extremely rare – they were usually compassionate enough to leave Christmas alone), greet the kids, then present them all with their gifts. After that, he would sit down and read them a story (two years back it had been a long, wonderfully-written poem penned by one of the older girls in the orphanage – and didn't she just burst with pride to hear Flash reading her work out loud to the others), then play a few games and sing some carols with them before he left. The kids looked forward to his Christmas visit eagerly (but then, they loved it whenever he came), and all of them would have a roaring good time celebrating Christmas.

It was something Wally looked forward to, too; and he wouldn't give it up for the world.

"All right, what shall we read this year?" Flash asked, speeding to the wooden bookcase propped against one wall of the room and scanning through the orphanage's selection of books. _Note to self: bring some new books. _"_The Grinch Who Stole Christmas_?"

"No, you read that last year," said Amelia Tell.

"Huh, did I?" Flash's eyes jumped to the next shelf. "Okay, then – what about _A Christmas Carol_?"

"Miss Grant already read that to us yesterday," Corey Jones informed him.

"_The Nutcracker_?"

"No!" at least five boys protested. "It's a girly story!"

"Is not!" several girls yelled back at them.

"Okay, tell you what," Flash interjected, seeing that he had exhausted the supply of Christmas storybooks on the bookcase's shelves, "How about I tell you about some of my adventures with the Justice League?"

This suggestion was met with great zeal, and Flash concluded that he had found a winner. He sat down on the floor and began telling the story of how the League had formed, while the children sat in a circle around him, enraptured.

"And then," Flash said, "Green Lantern said, 'We're more like a league'. So that's how we became the Justice _League_."

"Awesome!" the kids murmured.

Flash was about to tell them another story – this time about how he and Hawkgirl had teamed up to beat Mirror Master – but out of the corner of his eye he noticed one boy, about twelve or thirteen years old, who was sitting by himself near the window. Flash didn't know his name, which meant he was a new addition to the orphanage. The boy had not joined any of the celebrations, and he looked like he was crying.

Flash exchanged a glance with Miss Grant, the head caretaker, who was standing by the door. Upon making eye contact with Flash, she nodded, clearly understanding his intention.

"All right, break time," he said. "I smell your morning snack in the kitchen. I believe Miss Grant said something about oatmeal cookies…?"

"Awww…" Normally the kids devoured any food with relish (with the exception of vegetables), but Flash – who held deep appreciation for food of any sort – was gratified that they preferred to listen to him rather than fill their stomachs.

"Don't worry," he assured them. "I'll tell you all a great story when you come back."

They murmured, "Okay" and went off to have their snacks. Only the boy by the window didn't leave. Flash made his way over to him and sat down beside him.

"Hey there," he said gently. "You must be new here. What's your name?"

"Andrew," the boy replied.

"Hi, Andrew," Flash said warmly. "What are you doing sitting in a corner all by yourself? Everything okay?"

Andrew shrugged. "I guess." He didn't sound very sure.

"Come on – you can tell me. I'm a really good secret-keeper," Flash added with a wink.

Andrew's lip trembled as he answered, "My parents died last week."

Instantly Flash's jovial mood vanished. _Oh._

"I'm really sorry to hear that," he said sympathetically. "It's hard to lose your mom and dad."

Andrew sniffed. "No offense, Flash – you're a great guy and everything – but you can't really understand what it's like unless you've been there."

Flash half-smiled ruefully. "I _have _been there."

Andrew blinked. "What?"

"Can you keep a secret, Andrew?"

"Yeah…"

Flash smiled sadly. He leaned closer and whispered, "I grew up in this orphanage."

Andrew stared at him. "Seriously?"

"Well, sort of," Flash amended. "I was nine when my parents died – car accident – and I stayed here till I was fourteen."

"My parents died in a car accident too," Andrew said softly.

"Yeah, I know it sucks."

"Do you miss them?"

Flash pondered that. Did he miss his parents? His mom, definitely, but his dad…

His dad was still his dad, no matter what he did.

"Yeah," he answered finally. "Yeah, I miss them."

"I want them back, Flash." Andrew looked tearfully up at the Scarlet Speedster. "I wanna hug my mom and dad again, and tell them I love them, and…" He started to cry. Flash's heart went out to him, and he impulsively hugged the grieving preteen.

After a while Andrew pulled away. He looked embarrassed to have cried all over Flash – especially since he was almost thirteen. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Flash replied. "It's all right to cry, you know. A real man knows how to cry – it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"It hurts," Andrew admitted.

"I know. Believe me, I know. But trust me, it gets better with time." A few kids started filing back into the room still chewing their last mouthfuls of cookie, and Flash turned to Andrew and said, "Come on and join us for the rest of the day. You shouldn't be alone on Christmas – and being with your friends and having some fun will help cheer you up a little."

"Can't."

"Come again?"

"I can't have fun," Andrew clarified. "Not today."

"Why not?" Flash asked.

"It's too soon. If I have fun, it'll be like I'm forgetting them. I don't want to forget them."

Flash exhaled. "Kid, you never will. They'll always be with you in here." He touched the spot where Andrew's heart was. "But they'd want you to be happy. Having fun doesn't mean you've forgotten them – it means you're healing, and they'd want that for you, don't you think?"

Andrew thought about that. "Yeah, I guess…Dad always said he only wanted me to be happy – that's why he yelled at me so much for doing things he thought weren't a good idea."

"There, you see?" said Flash. "Now come on – you're gonna want to hear this story." So saying, he gently tugged Andrew into the circle of children, pleased that he had managed to offer some comfort to a young boy who was in the same situation he'd once been in.

Wally believed every Christmas was special, full of hope and joy and opportunities. Every year he tried to give back to his community, the way they'd given to him. Christmas, for Wally, was a representation of his love and optimism and his willingness to give – every year it was special, every year it was memorable.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

_**A/N: Nor would I, Flash - nor would I.**_

_**Six more chapters to go!  
**_

_**TOMORROW: Through a twist of fate, one married couple finds their Christmas Day intertwined with unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome, **Family Matters**.  
**_


	26. Family Matters

**_A/N: Welcome back for the first post-Christmas chapter. Did you all have a good Christmas?_  
**

**_Thanks to _**_Dextra2_**_ and _**_leathman_**_ for reviewing! You are my two utterly faithful readers and reviewers, and I'm glad I have you even when I don't hear from anyone else.  
_**

**_Today we check in with another pair of characters from _**_Origins_**_, as well as someonw whom fans of a certain DC cartoon will reocgnize instantly._**

* * *

**Family Matters**

Oliver and Dinah Queen had spent a relatively quiet Christmas morning in town, eating breakfast at one of the few restaurants open today and then strolling around Star City Square to look for their presents to each other. Dinah had found Ollie's present – a pocket-sized case with pens, laser pointers, notepaper, and several other things he needed when conducting mayoral business – but much to Ollie's chagrin, Dinah was proving to be a picky recipient. So far, she had declined a crystal necklace, a new dress, a book on martial arts from around the world, and a romance novel.

"Good grief, woman – don't you know what you want?" he exclaimed after three hours with no success.

Dinah chuckled. "Come on, Ollie, you know what I want." She glanced up at him seductively.

Ollie grinned, catching her drift. "Is that your Christmas present?"

"No!" She whacked him on the arm. "That's for after – you're not getting out of buying me a gift."

Ollie sighed. "It was worth a shot."

She smirked at him. "I bet you'd just _love _if that's all you had to get me for Christmas."

"You know it, babe."

Just then a blonde-haired girl bumped into them, nearly causing Ollie to trip.

"Whoa – watch it, there!" he warned.

"Sorry," the girl mumbled, barely pausing as she continued barreling past them.

Ollie frowned and clucked disapprovingly. "Youngsters these days."

Dinah, however, was studying the girl's fleeting figure. "Ollie, check your pockets."

"What? Why?" He patted his pants, and his eyes widened. "My wallet's gone!"

"That's what I thought." Without another word, Dinah was chasing after the blonde girl. Ollie remained still for two more seconds before following indignantly.

"Why, that little –"

* * *

The girl thief proved surprisingly hard to catch. Both Ollie and Dinah were fit and used to running around after villains, but this girl had the body and skill of a runner and the ability to slip expertly under, over, around, or through obstacles; clearly, she'd been doing this awhile.

"Ollie," said Dinah, panting only slightly, "keep chasing her. I'm going to get my bike." She fell behind and turned a corner while the girl and Ollie continued straight on.

_This is not how I imagined spending my Christmas, _Ollie grumbled to himself. He was huffing a bit more than Dinah had been, because he wasn't as active as she was in hero work anymore – and there were not many opportunities for physical exercise as a mayor – and thus, though still athletic, he was not quite as fit as his wife.

His cell phone rang, and without pausing, Ollie fished it out of his breast pocket. "Dinah?"

_"Where are you?"_

"She's approaching the corner of Orion and Rigel." True to form, most, if not all, roads in Star City were named after constellations, stars, planets, and other celestial bodies.

_"I'll be there in three."_

Ollie panted as he watched the girl sprint faster. "Make that two. This girl is _fast_." He hung up and focused on pumping his legs up and down at a quicker pace, ignoring the curious looks he was getting from the few citizens he passed. Two or three attempted to stop the fleeting pickpocket, but she nimbly dodged around all of them. Ollie had to admire her movements – and her stamina.

As the girl approached the corner, Dinah's bike roared up the adjacent street, forcing the girl to stop. She tried to backtrack and slip around Ollie, but he easily blocked her path.

"I…don't…think so," he told her, having to breathe between words.

Now that they were close, they could see that the girl had some Asian blood – Vietnamese, judging by her features. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a low ponytail, framing her heart-shaped pixie face. She had eyes shaped like almonds that slanted slightly towards her nose and a pointed chin that she raised in defiance.

"Fine," she said grudgingly, flicking Ollie's black leather wallet at him. "Take it back." She again tried to dart around him while he was momentarily distracted, but Dinah intervened quickly.

"Hold it," she said, grabbing the girl's arm. "Not so fast. Who are you?"

"Nobody," she replied quickly.

"I don't believe that. Come on, what's your name?"

"Why? So you can report me to the police?" She scoffed. "Not likely."

"We won't report you unless you give us cause to," Ollie put in, having recovered his breath sufficiently to speak normally. He fingered his wallet. "Why'd you do it?"

"Why do you think?" the girl shot back at him.

"Don't you have a home?" Dinah inquired. "Where are your parents?"

"Six feet under. I don't live anywhere. Can I go now?"

"No," said Ollie. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," she said at once. "I'm an emancipated minor."

"Really?" Ollie eyed her up and down skeptically. "You don't look more than thirteen to me."

"I'm _not _going to the orphanage!"

"No one said anything about that," Dinah soothed. "Come on – we want to help, really. At least tell us your name."

The girl sighed, some of her tough exterior chipping at the obvious concern in Dinah's voice. In a more timid voice, she answered, "It's Artemis."

"That's a lovely name," Dinah said warmly.

"So what are you going to do?" Artemis inquired.

"Well, Artemis, a young girl like you shouldn't be out on the streets alone," Dinah began. "Especially not –"

Artemis interrupted her. "I already told you I'm not going to the orphanage!"

"I wasn't suggesting it," Dinah said calmly. She exchanged a glance with Ollie. "What do you say to coming over to our house for Christmas?"

Artemis narrowed her eyes. "I'd say that sounds too good to be true."

Dinah smiled. "Well, it must be your lucky day. Come on." She took Artemis by the arm and gently steered her over to her motorcycle.

* * *

At the Mayor's house, Dinah took Artemis to the kitchen and gave her some food, which the young girl gladly ate. As she watched Artemis gradually relax, a fond smile crept onto Dinah's face.

"She's a brave girl," Ollie noted. "Living on the streets for God knows how long…"

"She can't keep living like that," said Dinah. "What will she grow up to be?"

"I know," Ollie agreed. "But she won't go to the orphanage, and if we try to make her, she'll just run away."

"Mm." Dinah's expression turned thoughtful. "There is something else we can do."

"What?" Ollie looked at his wife, and realization dawned. "Dinah, I don't think that's such a good idea…"

"Oh, come on, Ollie. It's about time we started a family, anyway. I know you miss having Roy around. And we could do so much for her." She glanced back at their guest in the kitchen, who was actually smiling a small smile of contentment.

"She's sure something, isn't she?" said Ollie. "She's got that spark – a little spitfire." He frowned. "But I'm still not sure –"

"Ollie, you still owe me a Christmas present."

Ollie stared at her. "_That _is what you're comparing it to? Seriously?"

She smirked at him. "Please, Ollie?"

His face was wry. "You know this is a big step, right?"

Dinah nodded.

"And there's no guarantee she'll actually want to do it."

"She'll want it."

Ollie raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"Look at her." Dinah gestured towards Artemis. "She acts tough, but inside, she's just craving a home and people to love her. Believe me, I know. She actually reminds me a little bit of me."

Ollie tried to protest half-heartedly, "There's paperwork and permits and courts to go through…"

"You're the Mayor."

Ollie sighed. "I'm not going to win this, am I?" he asked wryly.

Dinah pointed out, "You don't really want to."

Ollie smiled. "All right," he said finally. "We'll adopt her." He circled his arm around Dinah's shoulders. "Merry Christmas. I hope you like your present."

"More than anything, Ollie." Dinah leaned against him and watched Artemis looking around the well-designed kitchen in wonder. "More than anything."

* * *

_**A/N: Hello, Artemis :) Yet another **Young Justice** character added to the mix. Obviously, she and Wally aren't going to be a couple in this one - I have someone else in mind for the Scarlet Speedster. Yes, that's another hint to **Legacy**.**_

_**TOMORROW: Another recognizable character makes her Diamond Earth debut in **As an Angel**.**  
_


	27. As an Angel

**_A/N: Hey, guys! Thanks to _**_doglover500, leathman,__** and** Dextra2 **for reviewing!**_

**_WARNING: Tissues may be needed. This is a sad, sad chapter._**

* * *

**As an Angel**

Mari McCabe hated hospitals. This probably stemmed from the fact that when she'd broken her arm as a child in her home country Zambesi, she had been taken to a hospital that wasn't quite as reputable as its neighbors. The doctors at said hospital had set her arm wrong, and the eleven-year-old Mari had had to undergo painful corrective treatment at another facility. The doctors there re-broke and reset her arm, but to make sure there weren't any complications, she had been required to stay in that hospital for the first two weeks. During those two weeks, Mari learned to greatly dislike the cold, impersonal environment of the facility that was run by staff spurred only by money, not by any real desire to treat patients. The hospital fixed her arm, but for the whole two weeks she spent there, Mari was lonely and hurting.

She had vowed never to step foot in a hospital again.

Three years after she moved to New York City, however, she broke her promise for an exceptional situation – which was why she was here in St. Luke's Hospital in Manhattan on Christmas night.

St. Luke's was part of the Continuum Health Partners, a nonprofit hospital network comprised of a few hospitals in New York. That rose it a little in Mari's opinion, and as she saw more of it, she grudgingly came to see it as more than a building with medical equipment. However, she still didn't like hospitals as a general rule – and St. Luke's was still a hospital, monolithic and cool despite the staff's attempts to make it more welcoming by stringing up lights and mistletoe or putting up Christmas trees.

The Pediatrics floor was somewhat cozier than the rest of the hospital, because the people at St. Luke's understood that children's needs differed from adults. The lights were less glaring, the rooms less intimidating – and there was even a room set aside for play, filled with colorful cushions and toys and chairs. There was no one in the playroom at the moment because it was ten at night, but in the daytime, there would be kids in every corner.

Mari made her way to the countertop behind which sat a red-haired receptionist who was speaking into a phone. As soon as Mari sidled up to the counter, however, she ended the call.

"Thank you for coming." She was a young thing, about twenty-six, and she sounded as though she were on the verge of tears.

Mari acknowledged her with a curt bob of her head. "Where is he?"

"He's in his room. We wanted to make him as comfortable as possible…and, well, that room is more his home now than his own house."

"His parents?"

"They're on their way, but…" The receptionist sighed sadly. "I don't think they're gonna make it in time."

Mari nodded. "Okay." Keeping her composure, she walked through the hallways until she reached the room she was looking for. Just outside, she paused, looking through the glass door at the figure in the bed.

Ryan Peakes was an adorable, endearing, seven-year-old African-American boy…and he was dying. Diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia at age three, Ryan had spent half his life in the pediatric cancer ward at St. Luke's Hospital, undergoing chemotherapy, medication, and other treatments. Despite the doctors' best hopes, however, Ryan's cancer had proved to be of a persistent strain, and his body was not reacting as well to the treatments as they'd expected. The process for a cure became a quest to prolong Ryan's life. Because Ryan's cancer was so aggressive, his doctors had not expected him to live past his fifth birthday. But Ryan was a fighter, and he'd hung on for two more years. Now, after almost four years of fighting, Ryan was exhausted, in both body and spirit.

Ryan's parents, Ian and Danielle, both worked in the modeling industry, arranging fashion shows and engineering contracts between models and companies. Both were friends of Mari, and Mari had been visiting Ryan in St. Luke's for almost as long as he had been there; hence, when Ryan took a turn for the worse earlier that night, with his parents both out of town negotiating a contract, the hospital contacted Mari.

Ryan was sleeping, his chest moving up and down lightly with his breaths, but he stirred when Mari entered the room.

"Aunt Mari?"

Mari smiled. "Hi, boo. Is there room on that bed for me?"

"Mm-hmm." Ryan nodded sleepily as he started to shift to one side to make room for Mari.

"Let me, Ryan." Mari gently scooped him in her arms and climbed into bed with him, holding him close.

"Where's…Mommy and Daddy?" Ryan wanted to know. His voice was soft and small, audible proof of the weakness ravaging his body. Mari felt her heart break a bit.

"They're on their way."

Ryan sighed sadly. "They're not going…to make it…are they?" For a little boy, he was surprisingly perceptive. Mari's heart broke some more, but she was determined to be honest with this sweet child.

"No, honey, I don't think so." She wrapped her arms tighter around Ryan's frail body, wishing with all her might that she could change what was happening. Unfortunately, her Anansi totem only granted her the abilities of animals, not the power to alter the future.

Ryan's lip quivered, but he nodded bravely. "That's too bad," he said. In a smaller voice, he added, "I would've…liked them…to be here."

Mari's eyes shimmered with tears. "Hey," she said. "It's okay." She forced a smile. "Who knows? It's Christmas; Santa Claus might help them, and they might just get here in time."

Ryan smiled. "That would be…nice…" He coughed, his thin frame shaking with each hacking sound. "But…in case they don't…can you call them?" He looked up at Mari with hopeful brown eyes. "I wanna talk to them."

Mari very nearly broke down to know that she couldn't fulfill the dying boy's final wish. As a supermodel, she had the world at her fingertips – but it couldn't help her with Ryan's request. For all her fame, her fortune – she would give it all up if she could save Ryan, or at least grant his hope of talking to his parents one last time. But she couldn't.

"Oh, honey, I wish I could," she said to him, stroking his short bristly hair where it was growing out again after he'd gone bald from the chemotherapy. "But they're on a plane."

"So?" Ryan questioned.

Mari's eyes were sad as she responded simply in terms he would understand, "Cell phones don't work on planes."

"Oh." He sounded forlorn.

"I'm sorry, boo," Mari apologized. "I would if I could."

"Well…maybe God wanted it this way?" he queried with the innocence of a seven-year-old.

Mari couldn't see how God could let such a beautiful boy die, but she replied, "I suppose so."

Her answer seemed to satisfy Ryan. "Then…I guess…it must be okay." He sighed as he closed his eyes. "At least…I have…you."

The tears fell thick and fast down Mari's face now, and she didn't bother to hide them now that Ryan couldn't see them.

"Yes, you do, sweetie." She hugged him tightly and kissed his head.

"Will you tell them…it's okay?" he murmured. "Mommy and Daddy, I mean. You'll…tell them…it's all right they couldn't see me?…'cause I'll see them again…in heaven."

Finally, something she could do for him. "Yes," she promised. "I'll tell them."

His energy spent, Ryan quickly fell asleep again. Mari lay with him, holding him until his breaths slowed, becoming lighter and lighter before they stopped entirely; and the low, steady beep of his heart monitor signaled his passing. And Mari cried.

Ian and Danielle Peakes arrived just two minutes after Ryan's heart stopped forever, their faces drawn and anguished.

"Is he…?" Danielle couldn't finish her question. Mari nodded.

"He just left," she replied.

"Oh, God," Danielle sobbed, burying her face in her husband's shirt.

"He wanted me to tell you that it was all right," Mari said. "He said he would see you again in heaven."

"That sounds just like him," Ian agreed, his voice trembling, his eyes glistening with tears. He looked at Mari. "Thank you for being with him when…it happened."

There was nothing to say to that, so Mari simply nodded and moved aside to let Ryan's parents say their goodbyes to their beloved son.

Ryan Peakes died at 11:24 on Christmas night, returning forever to the embrace of his Creator, awaiting another Christmas – the Second Coming – when he would see his family again. The darling boy who had suffered so much was now an angel in heaven. The only witness to his death was Mari McCabe – and it was a sadness she would carry for the rest of her life, until the day she herself perished. On that day, Mari hoped, she would see Ryan again, whole and happy, as the angel he was.

* * *

_**A/N: This is dedicated to all cancer patients, especially children.**_

_**TOMORROW: Two men from different time periods meet for the first time, to begin a friendship **Forged in Fire**.  
**_


	28. Forged in Fire

**_A/N: Wow, all of a sudden I've got only one reviewer to thank. _**_Dextra2_**_, you are awesome!_  
**

* * *

**Forged in Fire**

Greg Saunders was sitting in a restaurant, enjoying a delicious dinner and a beautiful date on Christmas night, when he heard about it. Ironically, he heard about it from his date, a lovely woman in her mid-twenties who worked as a paramedic. Halfway through their dinner, her cell phone rang, and within a minute of answering it, she had responded, "I'm on my way," and snapped it shut.

"Duty calls?" Greg inquired in his western brogue.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. "I've gotta go – there's a fire at Reading Apartment." She pulled out her purse and started tossing bills on the table.

"Whoa, honey, what're ya doin'?" Greg asked, staying her hand.

"Paying."

"Now don't be ridiculous." He gathered up the notes and stuffed them back into her hand. "You go on an' help them folks at the apartment – I'll pay for dinner."

"But –"

"Dagnabbit, woman, independence's all good an' well, but a gentleman always pays. Now get!"

She smiled. "All right. Thanks, Greg." Without wasting any more time, she was gone.

Greg pulled out a handful of cash from his wallet, left them on the table, and disappeared two minutes later.

* * *

Reading Apartment Complex was an almighty blaze of red, orange, and yellow. The flames surrounded and engulfed the building like the jaws of a great monster, licking upwards towards the heavens and heating the cold winter air with fury. The fire department was already on scene, but the fire continued to rage unchecked despite their best efforts. Most of the apartment's residents had managed to get out before the fire blocked off all exits, and were currently being treated by the paramedics for smoke inhalation and burns – but several were still trapped inside the burning building. Those firefighters not battling the blaze were milling around the apartment, attempting to find a way in to rescue the trapped inhabitants.

Into this chaotic scene entered a figure who looked as if he'd come straight out an old western movie; his white pants, blue shirt, rodeo boots, and Stetson hat, plus the twin guns holstered at his belt and the red scarf covering the lower half of his face, all combined to give him a genuine cowboy image. Vigilante wasted no time; he dove straight into the turmoil, heedless of his own safety as he sought to aid the rescue operations. Unhooking his lasso from his belt, he ran over a nearby roof, looped his noose over the banister of the fire escape (which was being burnt to a crisp), and crashed straight into a window on the fourth floor.

Instantly the smoke and heat assailed him. Vigilante coughed into his bandanna. Catching sight of a child's cracked plastic water bottle, he untied his scarf, emptied its contents over the fabric, and replaced the wet cloth over his face. Then he moved down the hallways as fast as he could, searching for entrapped people.

He found a young couple trapped in their bedroom, the fire cutting off their route of escape through the door. Vigilante bravely jumped through the flames and broke their bedroom window, then helped them tear the blankets on their bed into strips which they knotted to make a rope. Once assured that they could climb down themselves, he continued on through the smoldering corridors, pausing only to re-soak his scarf in an abandoned bathtub.

Over the next few minutes, Vigilante wove in and out of corners, hallways, and doors, helping anyone he could find. By the time he'd personally ushered out an old man who was unconscious from the smoke, the firefighters had managed to get everyone else out. Vigilante stepped out into the blessedly cool air of the night and handed his passenger off to the nearest paramedic – his date from earlier. She hurried over with an oxygen mask and a wet towel, with absolutely no inkling that she had been having dinner with the man before her not one hour ago.

"Is that the last of them?" she questioned as her deft hands worked on her patient.

"I think so, ma'am," Vigilante replied, taking off his hat and fanning himself with it.

A panicked shriek arose from somewhere in the crowd. "Julie! Julie! Has anyone seen my daughter?"

Vigilante spun back to look at the building, and was horrified to see a teenaged figure waving frantically from a twelfth-floor window. The girl's mother saw her as well, because she immediately screamed and clutched her heart.

"Julie! Oh, my God! My daughter is still in there!"

Vigilante did not hesitate. He turned on his heel and made for the nearest fire truck.

"How high does this ladder go?" he demanded. "Can it get me up to the twelfth floor?"

"It'll only reach the tenth," the firefighter replied.

"It'll have to do." Vigilante started crawling along the ladder, to the firefighter's astonishment.

"Hey, cowboy, what do you think you're doing?"

"You heard the lady – her daughter's still in there."

"We've got a team already on it," said the firefighter. "They're making their way up there right now."

"Well, they ain't doin' it fast enough." Vigilante continued climbing, rising higher and higher with each rung.

"Are you crazy, man?" the firefighter shouted at him. "It's suicide to go in there right now! Get down here and let the professionals do their job!"

"I _am _a professional!" Vigilante shot back. He reached the tenth floor, muttering to himself, "Of a sort."

Vigilante was no fool. He knew this was extremely dangerous – probably one of the most reckless things he had ever done. The heat was intolerable and the smoke was so thick he was choking with every breath. Sweat soaked his hair and ran down his face in rivulets, and he felt like he was boiling in his clothes. But he couldn't dwell on how his heart was pounding a mile a minute – he had a girl to rescue, and there was no time to waste.

Vigilante reached the stairwell and was glad to find that the fire had not climbed this high yet. He dashed up the stairs to the twelfth floor, pausing periodically to gulp in the relatively fresher air in this part of the building. When he arrived on the landing, he stopped for a while, both to regain his breath and to orient himself. Recalling in his mind's eye which window he'd seen Julie waving from, he repositioned the rooms to match with the view he'd had from outside, and then he set off hurriedly down a corridor. When he judged that he was drawing near, he started calling out.

"Julie! If you can hear me, give me a shout! Julie! Tell me where you are!"

After a few minutes, he heard a muffled response coming from three doors down. "I'm here! Help! I'm over here!"

"All right, hold on – I'm comin'!" Viglante knew better than to pull the door open by the red-hot doorknob, so he kicked it down. He was met by a torrent of flames that blocked his path to the lone teenager stranded on the other side of the room.

Despite the gravity of her situation, Julie stared at him, coughing. "You're…not a firefighter."

"Nope," he agreed, scanning the line of fire for a way through. "I'm just the guy who's gonna save you. Stand back." Finding his opening, he timed his jump and leaped through the flames, getting his clothes scorched in the process. Smoke filled his nostrils and he had to succumb to a coughing fit. When he recovered, he marched to the open window and breathed in the fresh outside air.

Something exploded with a loud bang, and Julie shrieked. "I hope you have a plan to get us out!"

"I'm workin' on it." Glancing first over the room, then out the window, Vigilante was coming up with the beginnings of a plan when the ceiling, weakened from fire, collapsed around them, trapping them in the middle of the room and obstructing their path to both the window and the door. Realizing his budding escape plan was crushed, Vigilante uttered a very ungentlemanly word.

Julie became hysterical, coughing and sobbing. "We're gonna die! Oh, God, we're going to die! What are you doing?!" This last was screamed at Vigilante, who was tearing off a strip of her blouse.

"Wrap that around your mouth an' nose an' stay low!" he commanded, dropping down himself.

Julie coughed violently. "What does this help?" she gasped as she tied her blouse piece around her face.

"It'll give us a better chance of survivin' till the firemen get us out." There was no hint of playfulness in Vigilante's tone – he was deadly solemn. With no way to get to the window or the door, there was little he could do to save both their skins; their best bet now was the hope that the firefighters could get to them in time.

Minutes passed. The fire blazed on, igniting everything in its path. Smoke streamed through the pores in their cloth masks and filled their lungs. At length, Julie passed out. Vigilante would have tried to wake her up if he weren't so light-headed himself by this time. He tried to force himself to stay awake, but the noxious fumes of the smoke told him he was fighting a losing battle. His eyelids fluttered as he weakened; dazedly, he wondered where the hell the damn firemen were, but he couldn't put any real strength in the thought. He was resigned to his inevitable death.

_What a way to go, _he thought groggily to himself. _Burnt like yesterday's potato crisps. _He coughed violently. _I'm sorry, Julie. _He'd done his best to help, to get them both out alive – but here they were, trapped in a furnace, dying.

Vigilante's eyes fell shut of their own accord, and he could see nothing but black. Just as he was about to lapse into complete unconsciousness, he heard an almighty crash – to his ears, it was muffled and muted and sounded very far away – and it might have been a trick of his barbequed subconscious, but he swore he heard a horse's neigh. The next second, he felt himself being grabbed by a gauntleted hand and draped over a decidedly furry back. He tried to open his eyes to see what the sam heck was going on, but he didn't have the strength. He did, however, feel the strong hand that kept him from falling, and the whoosh of wind, accompanied by the soft stroke of a feathered…something.

And then he felt the heat receding as whatever he was on carried him away from the flames. The cool air brushed against his fevered forehead and revived him; he cracked open his eyes and focused on the blurry image that greeted him. As his vision gradually cleared, he made out shapes – a fire truck, a colossal conflagration, people…and then he realized with a shock that he was looking at all this from _above_.

"What the –" he exclaimed, trying to shoot upright and regretting it as he began to cough uncontrollably.

"Peace, brother," said a steady male voice, heavily accented with a twang that sounded as if it had come straight from the Middle Ages. At the same time, the hand on Vigilante's back maintained a sturdy grip that prevented him from plunging below. "Thou art safe now."

Puzzled and confused, but calmed somewhat by the fact that the ground seemed to be getting closer (his mystery savior must be descending), Vigilante regained his breath and inquired anxiously, "An' Julie?"

"The young lass is unharmed as well, I believe," replied the same Old English voice, "though she requires treatment for the smoke she has inhaled, as do you."

They landed just then, and Vigilante shakily slid off his transport, which he now saw clearly for the first time. As he'd guessed, he had been carried to safety by a large white horse. What he was not expecting, however, were the wide, feathered wings that stretched out of either side of the steed.

Even stranger was the man perched on the horse's back. Dressed in an old-style tunic bearing some sort of crest-of-arms over a full suit of chainmail, with a bluntly-pointed helmet on his head, metal greaves on his shins, and steel gauntlets encasing his hands, Vigilante and Julie's rescuer was literally a knight in shining armor. The medieval hero, who was currently carrying a still-unconscious Julie over to the paramedics, seemed oblivious to the stares he was attracting.

"Well, I'll be darned," Vigilante murmured.

The knight noticed him, and came over with a slight frown on his clean-shaven face. "Art thou uninjured?" he inquired.

Vigilante waved off his concern. "I'm fine, thanks to you."

"'Twas my honor and duty to aid thee in thy time of distress," said the knight. "I am glad thou art unharmed, but thou should still allow the physicians to examine thee."

"No, really, I'm all right," Vigilante insisted. No way was he letting the doctors pull down his scarf and expose his identity. He was called Vigilante for a reason.

"As thy rescuer, I must advise thee that this is a most foolhardy course of action."

Vigilante cleared his throat significantly, glancing meaningfully at the people who were starting to press towards the knight, awe and wonder plain on their faces. "You might want to continue this conversation somewhere more…private?" he suggested delicately.

The knight frowned and nodded. He clambered onto his winged horse and held his hand out to Vigilante, who took it and hoisted himself onto the mount. The knight called out an order, and the horse rose into the sky, flapping its great wings.

"This sure is something," Vigilante observed, watching the city skyline go by below them.

"'Tis a thing to marvel at, is it not?" the knight agreed with wonder in his voice. "I have been in this future barely a fortnight, and I am still discovering the awesome spectacles of the world."

"Future?" Vigilante questioned. He'd suspected this knight was somewhat misplaced in time, but it was another thing to have it confirmed. "Who are you, really, and when and where are you from?"

"My name is Sir Justin," replied the knight. "I hail from the fair land of Albion, under the reign of King Arthur, almost fifteen hundred years in the past."

"King Arthur?" Vigilante repeated. "The King of the Round Table?"

"The same," Sir Justin confirmed.

"Okay…" Vigilante was stunned. He was talking to a knight of Arthurian legend. "How did you get here?"

"The wizard Merlin cast a spell on a stone, but unfortunately, that same stone was stolen by a thieving vagrant," Sir Justin answered. "My comrades and I were sent out to find it, and find it I did – but the thief – he employed some dark magic, I know not what – and rendered me near death. Merlin used his own power to heal me, and then he sent me to this time because he said I was needed more here." Sir Justin scanned the rooftops, then asked, "Where is thy home?"

"I beg yer pardon?" Vigilante said.

"Well, where else would you wish to be taken?"

Catching his meaning, Vigilante said, "Oh." Then he said, "I have a better idea."

* * *

An hour later, Sir Justin stood in a white shirt and jeans from Greg Saunders' closet, stripped of all armor, his blond hair combed into a style very different from what he was used to.

"I am still not certain of this," he said hesitantly.

"Look," said Greg, now dressed in his everyday attire, "you said you don't know what mission you're supposed to carry out here, right?"

"That is true."

"So until you know what it is, you might as well learn to blend in. That will make it easier for you to do what you have to do later. People in this century aren't used to seeing Arthurian knights on flying horses."

"I suppose…" Sir Justin, now just Justin, looked slightly lost. "I must confide in thee, Greg Saunders – I am as yet unfamiliar with this time period, and I fear I would not know how to 'blend in', as thou say."

"Don't worry," said Greg, casually slinging an arm around Justin's shoulders. "I'll show you the ropes. There ain't nothin' to it, really. Consider it my thanks for you savin' my life."

"I am grateful," said Justin. "But art thou truly sure thou wish to do this for me?"

Greg flashed him a lopsided grin. "Friend, I'm tellin' ya, this is the start of a great partnership."

* * *

_**A/N: I personally love the friendship these two have. I only know them from DCAU JL, so that's what I'm basing their Diamond Earth incarnations off.**_

_**TOMORROW: Accepting life and all its twists and turns and ups and downs is like saying to a sunny sky, "**Let It Snow**." Introducing another friendship between two girls this time as they talk about their lives.  
**_


	29. Let It Snow

**_A/N: Thanks to _**_le__athman_**_ and _**_Dextra2_**_ for reviewing!_  
**

**_The following chapter is an example of how I have changed certain characters for Diamond Earth, so although the two girls in this story should be familiar to anyone who knows the Teen Titans, keep an open mind - they're not entirely the same._**

* * *

**Let It Snow**

"It hasn't snowed yet."

Karen Beecher looked up from braiding her thick curly hair to stare at her friend. "So?"

Antonia Monetti looked mournful. "I want it to snow."

"Why?" Karen fastened her braid with a bright yellow elastic. "You have snow in New Zealand."

"But not at Christmas. In New Zealand Christmas is in summertime. We never have white Christmases."

"Toni, white Christmases only make it wet and slushy and difficult to go anywhere."

"Aren't you the romantic," Toni said dryly.

"No, I'm practical." Karen smoothed out the unbraided sections of her hair with a comb. "Trust me, snowy Christmases are never as fun as the movies make them out to be."

"Just like having special abilities, huh?" Toni said, absent-mindedly stroking her silver-tinged skin. Karen sighed.

"Oh, Toni," she said, coming over to put an arm around her friend. "At least you can say it's in your genes. Not like me." She let the jacket around her shoulders slip down to reveal a pair of translucent insect wings. "I had to get stung by a bee that escaped from the animal testing section of S.T.A.R. Labs, simply because I didn't listen when Mom told me not to go into the woods."

"But you love exploring the woods," Toni pointed out.

"Not anymore." Karen shook her head. "My point is, it's my fault I'm like this – but it's not your fault that an alien impregnated your mother."

"It's not your fault either," Toni told her. "That you got stung by that bee, I mean."

Karen smiled wanly. "Thanks, Toni." Then she brightened. "It's not all bad, though. Now that my wings are fully grown, I can actually fly."

"Yep," Toni agreed. "And I can do just about anything with my silver plasma." She held up her hands and generated some to prove her point. "Now if only those idiots in school would realize that we're not freaks just because we can do things they can't. I can't wait till I'm old enough to join the Justice League – then we'll see who's laughing."

"Ew, you want to hang out with a bunch of adults in space?" Karen crinkled her nose.

"Well, no one makes fun of _them_ for having superpowers," Toni huffed. "Why are we any different?"

Karen looked thoughtful. "I think it's because we were both perfectly normal until we turned sixteen – when you turned silver and I got stung. And all our family and friends knew us as ordinary girls until we became…"

"Not so ordinary?" Toni suggested.

"Yeah." Karen nodded. "And I bet it doesn't help that we actually _look _different – not like the folks in the League."

"I don't know…Hawkgirl has wings, and the Martian Manhunter is, well…"

"He's a shapeshifter," Karen pointed out. "He can pretend to be an ordinary guy. And Hawkgirl's from another planet – she has every reason to have those wings. And her wings are _pretty_, feathered bird wings – like an angel's – I mean, who'd like _insect _wings better than bird wings?"

"_I _do," said Toni. "I always thought birds were bullies, anyway – it's insects who are underappreciated," she said seriously.

Karen grinned. "Have I ever told you I love your sense of humor?"

"No, but thank you."

Karen grabbed a pillow from her bed and threw it at Toni. "Idiot," she said fondly.

"Look who's talking."

"Seriously, though," said Karen, "the League?"

Toni shrugged. "Why not? Now that I've got these powers, I might as well use them – and use them in some way that won't get me alienated from everyone I know."

"Your dad still isn't speaking to you, huh?" Karen was sympathetic. Toni looked away.

"What did you think? After finding out I'm not actually his daughter, what can he say?" She sighed. "He's not happy with my mum, either. I tell you, it's a relief to be in America with you for Christmas. Thanks for inviting me."

"You're welcome." Karen patted Toni's shoulder. "He'll come around, Toni, I'm sure."

"How are your parents taking it?" Toni asked.

"Um." Karen hesitated. "All right, I guess…Dad's still trying to file a lawsuit against S.T.A.R. Labs – he even went to the Supreme Court last week to plead his case."

"Can he do that?" Toni wondered. "I mean, I know he's a Senator and all, but S.T.A.R. Labs works directly under the U.S. government."

"Who knows?" Karen sighed. "Mom's learned to be okay with…with what I am – but Dad still hasn't accepted it, and I don't think he's going to anytime soon."

"He's still speaking to you, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he talks – but it's not the same as before, you know?" Karen asked. "He doesn't look at me the same – he avoids touching me, and he tries to pretend not to see my wings." She looked sad. "I'm pretty sure he likes to think his daughter died when she was sixteen."

Now it was Toni's turn to comfort her friend; she hugged Karen tightly, both of them understanding the pain of being rejected by their fathers. Toni then decided to change the subject.

"Have you decided what you're going to study in college next year?"

"Biological engineering and quantum physics." Karen replied. "I could find out more about the changed genetics of the bee that stung me, so I could learn more about myself and what I can do."

"Ugh," Toni said. "Complicated calculations that'll go straight over my head."

"Ha, ha," Karen said dryly. "What about you?"

Toni shrugged. "I don't know…maybe fashion?"

"Is that even a college course?"

"Sure it is!" said Toni. "I could be a designer, and I wouldn't have to go out in public to work – so there's no chance of people gawking at my skin. And it would be easy to take time off for the League."

"Point," Karen conceded. After a pause, she added, "You know, there's another alternative to the League, if you're serious about going into the superhero biz."

"Oh?"

"The Teen Titans are a team too, and they're around our age – and they're based on Earth."

"In Jump City, right?" Toni nodded. "Yeah, I've seen the news. But it's a little far from New Zealand, and they don't have Javelins."

"Maybe," Karen admitted. "But if I were ever to join a superhero team – and I'm not saying I will – it'd be the Titans. I think I'd be more comfortable with them than the League. The Titans are like the opposite of the League; Nightwing and Wonder Girl are the only ones who look normal – the rest are obviously different, but none of them hide or are ashamed of what they are. That's something I'd like to be able to do."

"You and me both," Toni agreed. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "Tell you what – we'll both become Teen Titans and save our idiot peers from disaster, then we'll rub it in their faces that we 'freaks' are the reason they're still alive. Deal?"

Karen laughed, her wings waving gracefully. Toni smiled, and then she started laughing too – and then they were both giggling happily, two girls bonded by their differences and both determined to overcome the obstacles in their remarkable lives.

"Toni." Karen nudged her friend. "It's snowing."

Toni glanced out the window to see soft flakes of white brushing the glass on their way to the ground, and she grinned widely.

"Awesome."

* * *

_**A/N: Right, let's clear up some things. First off, for those who aren't familiar with these characters, Karen Beecher and Toni Monetti are the Teen Titans Bumblebee and Argent. **_

_**Next: differences with their classic versions. In the comics, it was Toni's father who was the U.S. Senator, and she lived in New Jersey, not New Zealand. However, since in the Teen Titans cartoon Argent lives in New Zealand, that's where I have put her; and Karen became the daughter of a Senator in New Jersey. The origin of Toni's powers and the effect it had on her skin is unchanged; but Karen is closer to her animated incarnation than her comic counterpart, and so, unlike the latter (who invented a suit that enabled her to shrink), her powers derive from the sting of a gentically modified bee - an origin I tailored to fit animated Karen.  
**_

_**TOMORROW: Christmas 2002 marks the **Arrival** of another time traveler.  
**_


	30. Arrival

**_A/N: Thanks, _**_Dextra2_**_ and _**_leath__man_**_ for your reviews. Mostly thanks to you two, _Joy to the World_ has now hit 100 reviews :D_  
**

**_I suppose Booster Gold was a fairly obvious character for today's chapter ;) Read on, then._**

* * *

**Arrival**

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a very different city than he remembers. The first thing that strikes him is the fact that the landscape is exceptionally…flat.

Oh, sure, there are forty-story buildings and high-rise condominiums, but compared to where he's from, the skyscrapers here are midgets. He's used to towers with two hundred floors and community pools at least five hundred feet above the ground. When he looks up, the sky is clear; the traffic is all on the roads, not obscuring the stars twinkling in the dark. It's kind of nice.

The people passing by barely give him a glance before moving on. He is not dressed like they are – but these people live in Superman's city and they are used to seeing figures in colorful skin-tight suits, so his dark blue and gold power suit is not exactly anything new. Still, he imagines that they stop and flock to him, asking for his autograph and fawning all over him, and he grins. Give it a few weeks, and his fantasy will be reality.

"Skeets, where are we?"

"According to my data, we are in Metropolis in the 21st century – to be exact, the date is December 25, 2002."

"How apt," he comments gleefully. "I'm a Christmas present."

One of the citizens suddenly takes more notice of him than the others, and she comes over curiously.

"Hey, are you one of those Justice League fellas?" she asks.

He swells with pride that she thinks he might be part of a group so heroic and iconic, but he answers honestly, "No, I'm not." _Not yet, anyway. _"But I _am _a superhero. Just call me…uh…" He racks his brains to think of a name besides his own, Michael Jon Carter – and then he remembers that his nickname as an athlete in the 25th century was 'Booster'. He starts to say that, but on a whim, he decides that 'Goldstar' would be a much better name for a superhero, and the two names end up meshing together so it sounds like, "Booster Gold."

"Cool," says the woman. "Listen, if you're not too busy, I need your help with something."

His chest puffs out and he tries to hide his gleeful grin in favor of being professional. He clears his throat and says, "Of course, ma'am. What do you need assistance with?"

In his mind he is rejoicing; he has not been in the 21st century more than ten minutes and already he is on his way to being a hero. His plan for fortune and fame, thought up on the spur of the moment when he saw the Legion flight ring and force field belt on open display in the 25th century museum he worked at, is going brilliantly.

Unfortunately, while he is gloating about the genius of his idea, the woman has finished explaining what it is she needs him to do and is already starting to walk away. Panicking, the newly-named Booster Gold turns to his robotic companion.

"Skeets, what am I supposed to do?" He has no idea why the former museum security bot agreed to help him – he speculates that there must be a programming defect somewhere in its system – but he's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Skeets' databanks will ensure he doesn't screw up the timeline by staying in the 21st century; he wants celebrity status, but not at the cost of unraveling reality – he isn't that selfish.

"There is a group of people trapped in a stalled elevator in Clarinn's Department Store. The maintenance crew is already on their way, but those people would be much obliged if you were to help speed the process along," answers Skeets.

Booster Gold grins and levitates off the ground, flying after the woman. "I can do that."

It does not take long for them to reach the store, and in a few minutes he has made his way up to the elevator in question, passing by the maintenance crew.

"Don't worry, ladies and gentlemen," he announces brashly. "Booster Gold has arrived."

And so he has. As he forces the elevator doors open, he reflects confidently that a 21st century with Booster Gold will never be the same again. In his mind, there is no doubt that he will be a great hero, and that he will be a role model for millions of people who will soon come to celebrate Christmas 2002 as the day Booster Gold arrived.

* * *

_**A/N: I'm using classic Booster Gold for Diamond Earth because then I'll be able to show his character development as he evolves from the glory-hogging jerk he starts out as. Even when he's looking for fame and fortune, though, he isn't all bad - there are hidden qualities and strength of character we have yet to see.**_

_**TOMORROW: The grand finale of this Christmas collection - an extra special chapter introducing an entire new set of Diamond Earth characters, stuffed with plenty of throwbacks and references and hints **Of Things to Come**. See you all there!  
**_


	31. Of Things to Come

**_A/N: Here we are - the final chapter of _**_Joy to the World_**_. A big thank you to _**_leathman_**_ and _**_Dextra2_**_ for reviewing not just last chapter, but also every single chapter of this story. :D Happy 2013, everyone!_  
**

* * *

**Of Things to Come**

_December 25, 3002_

A commanding, authoritative voice rang out in the hallway.

"Garth Ranzz, get your stubborn behind out here _now_!"

A ginger-haired young man poked his head out from behind his room door. "Grife, Ayla – could you say that a little louder? I don't think they heard you on Winath."

His twin sister, Ayla Ranzz, tapped her foot impatiently. "Come _on_, already – everyone's waiting."

"I never said they had to. Tell them they can go right on ahead, no need to wait for me, I'll be along shortly."

"You mean after Rokk and Imra have already covered your speech for you?" Ayla raised an eyebrow. "Not on my watch. You're coming now."

"But I hate making speeches!" Garth said plaintively. However, he knew his sister wouldn't budge, so he reluctantly came out of his room.

"Tough." Ayla was unsympathetic as she prodded him in the back to make him move. "It comes with the territory of being a Founder. Now come on, slowcoach – I'd like to have our holiday dinner before January."

* * *

The conference room in Legion HQ, normally used to hold meetings, had been transformed into a veritable banquet hall. The long conference table was draped with a gold cloth, festooned with flowers and ribbons and glowing lights. Several smaller tables, all laden with delectable eatables from numerous cultures, had been brought in and were arranged at either side of the room. Swags of colored cloths and bunches of holocrystals had been pinned just below the ceiling. A massive banner hung from the doorway, wishing everyone Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanza, Blessed Winter Solstice, Yule Tidings, Joyous Winter Festival, Pleasant Harvest Time, and whatever else the various members of the Legion of Superheroes celebrated on their homeworlds at this time of year.

The Legionnaires themselves were not clad in their usual uniforms, but in smart, chic party clothes no less colorful than their costumes – many had a dash of the Legionnaire's home culture present in the design.

This holiday season marked the end of the Legion's fourth year; three weeks from now the team would celebrate the fourth anniversary of its founding. Today's occasion, however, was a simple commemoration of the various holidays and general goodwill – a get-together for the group of extraordinary young people who had formed strong bonds of friendship and teamhood. After speeches from the three Founders Rokk Krinn, Imra Ardeen, and Garth Ranzz (Legionnaires Cosmic Boy, Saturn Girl, and Lightning Lad, respectively) much to this effect, the dinner got in full swing. Conversations sprung up between friends, good food was enjoyed, and music was played. A few danced after they had finished their meal, while others were content to sit and talk – or, in the case of one Tenzil Kem, the aptly-named Matter-Eater Lad, go for third and fourth helpings.

At length, Jan Arrah, the Legionnaire Alchemist, ever philosophical, proposed that since the Legion was directly inspired by and so deeply entrenched in the legacy of the Second Age of Heroes, they should take the opportunity to remember their history.

"Let's make it more interesting," Nura Nal suggested. "Instead of rehashing our history lessons, let's make a game out of it."

"How do we do that?" Dawnstar wondered.

"First," said Nura, "we pick a date. Then we use a holopad to randomly select someone, and he or she has to tell the rest of us of something significant that happened on that date in history. Then we pick a new date, and…" She paused as a vision occurred to her. "Oh." She turned to Lyle Norg, who was sipping his punch obliviously. "You're right, that is a better idea."

Lyle looked nonplussed. "What idea? I didn't say anything."

"No, but you would have in ten seconds."

"What?" Jo Nah asked.

"We pick one date," said Nura. "One single date in history on which many things happened, and everyone takes turns thinking of one thing."

"Aw, come on!" Dirk Morgna protested. "There's thirty-one of us – what single date in history had twenty-seven significant things happen?"

"Two dates, to be exact," Lyle interjected, having caught on. "24th and 25th December 2002."

"Exactly one thousand years ago," Nura added.

There was a pause as everyone processed this.

"There aren't quite enough events to go round all of us, given the parameters of the game – but we can also cite connected happenings that resulted from those events," Lyle reasoned.

"It is a good way to test our knowledge of the past," Jan agreed.

"Oh, what the heck," Jenni Ognats said lightly. "Let's do it."

"I'm all for it," Thom Kallor acquiesced.

One by one, the other Legionnaires declared their concurrence (somewhat reluctantly, on the parts of Dirk and Ti'julk Mr'asz, and casual indifference on Querl Dox's).

Rokk pulled out his pocket holopad, in which there were files and membership photos of all the Legionnaires, and set it to random.

"Let the games begin," he said, as the holopad rapidly flipped through various names before stopping at one.

"It just had to be me, didn't it?" Reep Daggle complained as he saw his codename, Chameleon, hover above the holopad. "All right, uh, let's see…"

"One more rule," said Nura with a smile, "Each of us only has one minute to think of something and tell it to everyone else. If we don't do it in time, we have to cover a random Legionnaire's monitor shifts for a week."

"Oh, come _on_!" exclaimed Reep.

"You've got fifty-six seconds," Salu Digby told him helpfully. Reep glared at her. "Fifty-four," she sang.

"Ugh!" said Reep. "Okay, uh…it was the first Christmas celebrated in Jump City Titans Tower." He grinned, looking very pleased with himself.

"Next one." Rokk pressed the button on his holopad, and again it flashed through several names. "Phantom Girl."

"Shining Knight met Vigilante," Tinya Wazzo said at once.

The next name was Saturn Girl, so Imra responded, "Eris caused disasters in South America as part of her game with Wonder Woman, Doctor Fate, and Inza Cramer."

Garth was quick to build on her answer when _his _codename appeared above the holopad after hers. "As a result of the mission in South America, Doctor Fate joined the Justice League and became the first non-founder to do so."

"I'm impressed you actually know that," Rokk teased as he pressed the button again. "You never were one for history."

"Shut up, Cos."

Salu was next. "Lex Luthor signed a check for ten thousand dollars to the Faith, Hope, and Charity Orphanage in Metropolis."

"One of the few good things he ever did," Drake Burroughs commented. "I'm actually amazed he had the heart to do that."

Luornu Durgo frowned. "Isn't that a bit jaded, Drake?" she asked pointedly.

Drake shrugged. "Facts are facts. The man was a bastard. He got what was coming to him."

"You know," Imra interjected, "to this day, no one knows why he signed that check. There were rumors that he was seen around the orphanage, but nothing was ever confirmed."

"Maybe he just had a temporary attack of conscience," Wilimena Vauxhall proposed. "In any event, let's move on."

"XS," Rokk announced after glancing at the name.

Jenni grinned. "The Central City Rogues kicked Copperhead and Shade out of town."

"Finest thing ever done by a bunch of villains," Chuck Taine agreed, chortling.

The lot then fell to Nura, who said, "Cyborg reconciled with his father."

Jo was the first one to hit a snag; he was unable to think of anything that hadn't already been said, and when his one minute expired, he was duly informed that he would be held to his double shifts for the next week.

"We'll decide whose shifts you'll get," Garth told him.

Next up was Dirk. "White dwarf star matter landed outside Ivy Town," he said. "The properties of the meteorite later enabled Ray Palmer to become the Atom."

Salu added, "And Palmer's technology was independently replicated on Imsk and eventually incorporated into our DNA structure."

Lyle shot her a look. "You just couldn't resist that, could you?"

"Nope."

It was Dawnstar's turn after that. "The Royal Flush Gang attempted to rob the Midway Museum; Hawkgirl stopped them and became the city's protector soon after, marking the end of her migratory life on Earth."

"Ten down, twenty to go." Tasmia Mallor glanced at Zoë Saugin. "Think you can come up with something when your name gets picked?"

"Please," said Zoë. "My mother was an archaeologist. I so know things."

"Well, here's your chance to prove it," said Troy Stewart, nodding towards the holographic screen that was now bearing Kinetix's name.

Without missing a beat, Zoë answered, "The Question and Huntress met in Gotham."

"Really? At Christmas 2002?" Val Armorr asked interestedly.

"Those two were as secretive as they go," Brin Londo noted. "No one could positively pinpoint when they first met."

"Well, my mother did," Zoë replied. "I think the history logs were recently updated, too."

"Who's next?" Condo Arlik inquired.

"Luornu," Imra replied, reading over Rokk's shoulder.

Luornu had to think awhile before she responded, "Oliver and Dinah Queen adopted Artemis Crock, who later became Green Arrow's apprentice, codenamed Arrowette."

The next contender, Gim Allon, said simply, "Green Lantern Alan Scott died."

There was a short moment of silence as everyone remembered Earth's first Green Lantern.

Rokk cleared his throat. "Moving on, then…" He pressed the button again.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, almost everyone had had their turn citing moments of Christmas 2002. Most were well acquainted enough with the legacy of the Second Age of Heroes to avoid the forfeit – though Brin, Ti'julk, and Ayla joined Jo for double monitor duty. Only one Legionnaire had not yet had his name selected.

"Hey, Querl, where's your flight ring?" Thom queried, noticing the green-skinned Legionnaire's bare finger.

Querl Dox moved his hand. "I left it as an exhibit at the New Metropolis Museum of Art and History in the 25th century, along with one of my spare force field belts. I haven't gotten around to replacing it yet."

"Why would you do that?" Blok inquired.

"To ensure Booster Gold would travel to the 21st century." Querl glanced at the holopad. "By the way, as I am the only one who has yet to participate in the game, as my contribution, Booster Gold arrived in 21st-century Metropolis on December 25, 2002."

Several less historically-savvy people groaned.

"Brainy, Booster Gold was a fame-seeking, glory-hogging gold digger," said Jo.

"A human concerned only with himself," Ti'julk agreed, clicking his pincers disapprovingly. "An extremely sorry excuse for a superhero."

"Check the later records," Querl advised them. "Booster Gold matured a great deal in his first few years with the Justice League, and became a remarkable hero in his own right."

"Is that right?" Hart questioned.

"Yep." Lyle nodded. "He was instrumental in the Battle of Las Vegas against the Royal Flush Gang."

"Which enabled the League to eventually defeat the entire syndicate," Querl added. "Without Booster Gold, the Justice League would have been ended by the Royal Flush Gang, just three and a half years after its inception."

"I always did wonder how that museum ended up having a Legion flight ring on display for Booster Gold to steal, seeing how the Legion didn't exist until 2999," Gim remarked. "Now it turns out _Brainy_'s the one who put it there."

"History must be preserved," Querl quipped. "Without the Justice League, the Legion would not exist."

"Here's to history, then," Imra said, holding up her glass for a toast.

"To history," the other Legionnaires echoed.

Rokk added with a smile, "And may we make history of our own."

* * *

_**A/N: Ah, the Legion - the very first fandom I published in. Of course they're gonna be part of Diamond Earth. Most of the Legionnaires in this chapter were referred to only by their actual names, so below I've compiled the complete list of membership of the Legion of Superheroes at the time of December 25, 3002. Note that a few codenames have been modified, because I didn't want so many 'boy's and 'girl's attached to them.**_

1. Cosmic Boy (Rokk Krinn)  
2. Saturn Girl (Imra Ardeen)  
3. Lightning Lad (Garth Ranzz)  
4. Brainiac 5 (Querl Dox)  
5. Phantom Girl (Tinya Wazzo)  
6. Triplicate Girl (Luornu Durgo)  
7. Alchemist (Jan Arrah)  
8. Leviathan (Gim Allon)  
9. Shrinking Violet (Salu Digby)  
10. Invisible Kid (Lyle Norg)  
11. Timber Wolf (Brin Londo)  
12. Gossamer (Ayla Ranzz)  
13. Bouncing Boy (Chuck Taine)  
14. Star Boy (Thom Kallor)  
15. Inferno (Dirk Morgna)  
16. XS (Jenni Ognats)  
17. Matter-Eater Lad (Tenzil Kem)  
18. Kinetix (Zoë Saugin)  
19. Dreamer (Nura Nal)  
20. Princess Projectra (Wilimena Vauxhall)  
21. Umbra (Tasmia Mallor)  
22. Karate Kid (Val Armorr)  
23. Ultramarine (Jo Nah)  
24. Gates (Ti'julk Mr'asz)  
25. Wildfire (Drake Burroughs)  
26. Dawnstar  
27. Blok  
28. Tyroc (Troy Stewart)  
29. Nemesis (Hart Druiter)  
30. Chemical King (Condo Arlik)  
31. Chameleon (Reep Daggle)

_**That's all for now, folks! Keep an eye out for the next Diamond Earth tale, **Legacy**. Once more, Happy New Year!**_


End file.
